OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE  PALISER  CASE 


BY  EDGAR  SALTUS 

HISTORIA  AMORIS 

IMPERIAL  PURPLE 

MARY  MAGDALEN 

THE  POMPS  OF  SATAN 

THE  J.ORDS  OF  THE  GHOSTLAND 

DAUGHTERS  OF  THE  RICH 

In  preparation 
SCAFFOLDS  AND  ALTARS 


THE  PALISER  CASE 


BY 


EDGAR  SALTUS 


BONI      AND     LIVERIGHT 

NEWYORK  1919 


Then  headlong  down  the  stair  of  life  he  fell,  while  up 
that  stairway  others  laughed  and  mounted  and  all  were 
drunken  with  the  wine  of  youth. 


COPYRIGHT,  IQIQ, 
BY  EDGAR  SALTUS 


Printed  in  the  U.S.A. 


THE   PALISER  CASE 


THE  murder  of  Monty  Paliser,  headlined  that 
morning  in  the  papers,  shook  the  metropolis  at 
breakfast,  buttered  the  toast,  improved  the  taste  of 
the  coffee. 

Murdered !  It  seemed  too  bad  to  be  false.  More 
over,  there  was  his  picture,  the  portrait  of  a  young  man 
obviously  high-bred  and  insolently  good-looking.  In 
addition  to  war  news  and  the  financial  page,  what 
more  could  you  decently  ask  for  a  penny?  Nothing, 
perhaps,  except  the  address  of  the  murderer.  But 
that  detail,  which  the  morning  papers  omitted,  extras 
shortly  supplied.  Meanwhile  in  the  minds  of  imagina 
tive  New  Yorkers,  visions  of  the  infernal  feminine 
surged.  The  murdered  man's  name  was  evocative. 

His  father,  Montagu  Paliser,  generally  known  as 
M.  P.,  had  lived  in  that  extensive  manner  in  which 
New  York  formerly  took  an  indignant  delight.  Be 
hind  him,  extending  back  to  the  remotest  past  when 
Bowling  Green  was  the  centre  of  fashion,  always 
there  had  been  a  Paliser,  precisely  as  there  has  always 
been  a  Livingston.  These  people  and  a  dozen  others 
formed  the  landed  gentry — a  gentry  otherwise  landed 
since.  But  not  the  Paliser  clan.  The  original  Paliser 
was  very  wealthy.  All  told  he  had  a  thousand  dollars. 
Montagu  Paliser,  the  murdered  man's  father,  had 

i 

M589993 


2  THE    PALISER    CASE 

stated  casually,  as  though  offering  unimportant  infor 
mation,  that,  by  Gad,  sir,  you  can't  live  like  a  gentle 
man  on  less  than  a  thousand  dollars  a  day.  That  was 
years  and  years  ago.  Afterward  he  doubled  his  esti 
mate.  Subsequently,  he  quadrupled  it.  It  made  no 
hole  in  him  either.  In  spite  of  his  yacht,  his  racing 
stable,  his  town  house,  his  country  residences  and 
formerly  in  the  great  days,  or  rather  in  the  great 
nights,  his  ladies  of  the  ballet,  in  spite  of  these  inci 
dentals  his  wealth  increased.  No  end  to  it,  is  about 
the  way  in  which  he  was  currently  quoted. 

All  New  Yorkers  knew  him,  at  any  rate  by  repute, 
precisely  as  the  least  among  us  knows  Mr.  Carnegie, 
though  perhaps  more  intimately.  The  tales  of  his 
orgies,  of  his  ladies,  of  that  divorce  case  and  of  the 
yacht  scandal  which  burst  like  a  starball,  tales  Vic 
torian  and  now  legendary,  have,  in  their  mere  recital, 
made  many  an  old  reprobate's  mouth  champagne.  But 
latterly,  during  the  present  generation  that  is,  the  in 
effable  Paliser — M.  P.  for  short — who,  with  claret 
liveries  and  a  yard  of  brass  behind  him  had  tooled 
his  four-in-hand,  or  else,  in  his  superb  white  yacht, 
gave  you  something  to  talk  about,  well,  from  living 
very  extensively  he  had  renounced  the  romps  and 
banalities  of  this  life. 

Old  reprobates  could  chuckle  all  they  liked  over  the 
uproar  he  had  raised  in  the  small  and  early  family 
party  that  social  New  York  used  to  be.  But  in  club 
windows  there  were  no  new  tales  of  him  to  tell.  Like 
a  potentate  outwearied  with  the  circumstance  of  State, 
he  had  chucked  it,  definitely  for  himself,  and  recently 
in  favour  of  his  son,  Monty,  who,  in  the  month  of 
March,  1917,  arrived  from  Havana  at  the  family 
residence,  which  in  successive  migrations  had  moved, 


THE    PALISER    CASE  3 

as  the  heart  of  Manhattan  has  moved,  from  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  the  Battery  to  that  of  the  Plaza. 

In  these  migrations  the  Palisers  had  not  derogated 
from  their  high  estate.  Originally,  one  of  the  first 
families  here,  the  centuries,  few  but  plural,  had  in 
creased  what  is  happily  known  as  their  prestige.  Monty 
Paliser  was  conscious  of  that,  but  not  un wholesomely. 
The  enamellings  that  his  father  had  added  gave  him 
no  concern  whatever.  On  the  contrary.  He  knew 
that  trade  would  sack  the  Plaza,  as  long  since  it  had 
razed  the  former  citadels  of  fashion,  and  he  foresaw 
the  day  when  the  family  residence,  ousted  from  upper 
Fifth  Avenue,  would  be  perched  on  a  peak  of  Wash 
ington  Heights,  where  the  Palisers  would  still  be 
among  the  first  people  in  New  York — to  those  coming 
in  town  that  way. 

That  result  it  was  for  him  to  insure.  Apart  from 
second  cousins,  to  whom  he  had  never  said  a  word  and 
never  proposed  to  address,  apart  from  them,  apart  too 
from  his  father  and  himself,  there  was  only  his  sister, 
Sally  Balaguine,  who,  one  night,  had  gone  to  bed  in 
Petersburg  and,  on  the  morrow,  had  awakened  in 
Petrograd.  Though,  in  addition  to  this  much  sur 
prised  lady,  before  whose  eyes  Petrograd  subsequently 
dissolved  into  Retrograd  and  afterward  into  delirium, 
there  was  her  son,  a  boy  of  three.  Mme.  Balaguine's 
prince  did  not  count,  or  rather  had  ceased  to.  As 
lieutenant  of  the  guards  he  had  gone  to  the  front 
where  a  portion  of  him  had  been  buried,  the  rest  hav 
ing  been  minutely  dispersed. 

To  perpetuate  the  clan  in  its  elder  branch,  there 
was  therefore  but  this  young  man,  a  circumstance 
which,  on  his  return  from  Havana,  his  father  ad 
vanced. 


4  THE   PALISER   CASE 

They  were  then  at  luncheon.  For  the  father  there 
was  biscuit  and  milk.  For  the  son  there  was  an  egg 
cooked  in  a  potato.  Yet,  in  the  kitchen,  or,  if  not 
there,  somewhere  about,  were  three  chefs.  Moreover 
on  the  walls  were  Beauvais.  The  ceiling  was  the  spoil 
of  a  Venetian  palace.  The  luncheon  however  simple 
was  not  therefore  disagreeable. 

With  an  uplift  of  the  chin,  the  elder  man  flicked  a 
crumb  and  sat  back.  The  action  was  a  signal.  Three 
servants  filed  out. 

Formerly  his  manner  had  been  cited  and  imitated. 
To  many  a  woman  it  had  been  myrrh  and  cassia.  It 
had  been  deadly  nightshade  as  well.  After  a  fashion 
of  long  ago,  he  wore  a  cavalry  moustache  which,  once 
black,  now  was  white.  He  was  tall,  bald,  very  thin. 
But  that  air  of  his,  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to  im 
mediate  obedience,  yet  which  could  be  very  urbane  and 
equally  insolent,  that  air  endured. 

In  sitting  back  he  looked  at  his  son  for  whom  he  had 
no  affection.  For  no  human  being  had  he  ever  had 
any  affection,  except  for  himself,  and  latterly  even  that 
unique  love  had  waned. 

The  chefs,  originally  retained  on  shifts  of  eight 
hours  each,  in  order  that  this  man  might  breakfast 
or  sup  whenever  he  so  desired,  that  he  might  break 
fast,  as  a  gentleman  may,  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  or 
sup  at  seven  in  the  morning,  these  chefs  were  useless. 
His  wife,  who  had  died,  not  as  one  might  suppose  of  a 
broken  heart  but  of  fatty  degeneration,  had  succumbed 
to  their  delicately  toxic  surprises  with  groans  but  also 
with  thanksgiving. 

That  is  ancient  history.  At  present  her  widower 
supped  on  powdered  charcoal  and  breakfasted  on  bis 
muth.  The  cooks  he  still  retained,  not  to  prepare  these 


THE    PALISER   CASE  5 

triumphs,  but  for  the  benefit  of  his  heir,  for  whom  he 
had  no  affection  but  whom  he  respected  as  the  next 
incumbent  and  treated  accordingly,  that  is  to  say, 
as  one  gentleman  treats  another. 

On  this  high  noon,  when  the  servants  had  gone,  the 
father  sat  back  and  looked  at  his  son,  who,  it  then  oc 
curred  to  him,  astonishingly  resembled  his  mother.  He 
had  the  same  eyes,  too  big,  too  blue ;  the  same  lashes, 
too  long,  too  dark ;  the  same  ears,  too  small  and  a  trifle 
too  far  forward.  In  addition  he  had  the  same  full 
upper-lip,  the  same  cleft  in  the  chin,  the  same  features 
refined  almost  to  the  point  of  degeneracy.  But  the 
ensemble  was  charming — too  charming,  as  was  his 
voice,  which  he  had  acquired  at  Oxford  where,  at  the 
House,  he  had  studied,  though  what,  except  voice 
culture,  one  may  surmise  and  never  know.  Men  gen 
erally  disliked  him  and  accounted  the  way  he  spoke, 
or  the  way  he  looked,  the  reason.  But  what  repelled 
them  was  probably  his  aura  of  which,  though  unaware, 
they  were  not  perhaps  unconscious. 

His  father  motioned :  "Thank  God,  you  are  here.  At 
any  moment  now  we  may  be  in  it  and  you  will  have  to 
go.  You  are  not  a  divinity  student  and  you  cannot 
be  a  slacker." 

The  old  man  paused  and  added:  "Meanwhile  you 
will  have  to  marry.  If  anything  should  happen  to 
you,  there  would  be  but  Sally  and  the  Balaguine  brat 
and  I  shouldn't  like  that.  God  knows  why  I  care,  but 
I  do.  There  has  always  been  a  Paliser  here  and  it  is 
your  turn  now — which  reminds  me.  I  have  made  over 
some  property  to  you.  You  would  have  had  it  any 
way,  but  the  transfer  will  put  you  on  your  feet,  besides 
saving  the  inheritance  tax." 

"Thank  you.     What  is  it?" 


6  THE   PALISER   CASE 

"The  Place,  the  Wall  Street  and  lower  Broadway 
property,  that  damned  hotel  and  the  opera-box.  Jerolo- 
man  wrote  you  about  it.  Didn't  you  get  his  letter?" 

"I  may  have.     I  don't  know  that  I  read  it." 

"When  you  have  a  moment  look  in  on  him.  He  will 
tell  you  where  you  are." 

"And  where  is  that?" 

The  old  man  summarised  it.  Even  with  the  in 
creased  cost  of  matrimony,  it  was  enough  for  a  Mor 
mon,  for  a  tribe  of  them.  But  the  young  man  omitted 
to  say  so.  He  said  nothing. 

His  father  nodded  at  him.  "You  think  marriage  a 
nuisance.  So  it  is.  So  is  everything.  By  Gad,  sir, 
I  wish  I  were  well  out  of  it.  I  go  nowhere — not  even 
to  church.  I  have  grown  thin  through  the  sheer 
nuisance  of  things.  But  if  nothing  happens  over 
there  and  you  don't  make  a  mess  of  it,  the  next  twenty 
years  of  your  life  ought  not  to  be  profoundly  disagree 
able.  Now  I  dislike  to  be  a  nuisance  myself,  but  in 
view  of  the  war,  it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be 
another  Paliser,  if  not  here,  at  least  en  route." 

"I  will  think  it  over,"  said  this  charming  young  man, 
•who  had  no  intention  of  doing  anything  of  the  kind. 

"The  quicker  the  better  then,  and  while  you  are  at 
it  select  a  girl  with  good  health  and  no  brains.  They 
wear  best.  I  did  think  of  Margaret  Austen  for  you, 
but  she  has  become  engaged.  Lennox  his  name  is. 
Her  mother  told  me.  Told  me  too  she  hated  it.  Said 
you  must  come  to  dinner  and  she'd  have  a  girl  or  two 
for  you  to  look  at.  Oblige  me  by  going.  Plenty  of 
others  though.  Girls  here  are  getting  healthier  and 
stupider  and  uglier  every  year.  By  Gad,  sir,  I 
remember ' ' 

The  old  man  rambled  on.     He  was  back  in  the  days 


THE    PALISER   CASE  7 

when  social  New  York  foamed  with  beauty,  when  it 
held  more  loveliness  to  the  square  inch  than  any  other 
spot  on  earth.  He  was  back  in  the  days  when  Fifth 
Avenue  was  an  avenue  and  not  a  ghetto. 

With  an  air  of  interest  the  young  man  listened. 
The  air  was  not  feigned.  Yet  what  interested  him 
was  not  the  outworn  tale  but  the  pathological  fact  that 
the  reminiscences  of  the  aged  are  symptomatic  of 
hardening  of  the  arteries. 

Mentally  he  weighed  his  father,  gave  him  a  year, 
eighteen  months,  and  that,  not  because  he  was  anxious 
for  his  shoes,  but  out  of  sheer  dilettantism. 

The  idea  that  his  father  would  survive  him,  that 
it  was  he  who  was  doomed,  that  already  behind  the 
curtains  of  life  destiny  was  staging  his  death — and 
what  a  death ! — he  could  no  more  foresee  than  he  fore 
saw  the  Paliser  Case,  which,  to  the  parties  subse 
quently  involved,  was  then  unimaginable,  yet  which,  at 
that  very  hour,  a  court  of  last  resort  was  deciding. 

He  looked  over  at  his  father.  "Palmerston  asked 
everybody,  particularly  when  he  didn't  know  them 
from  Adam,  'How's  the  old  complaint?'  How  is 
yours?" 

With  that  air  that  had  won  so  many  hearts,  and 
broken  them  too,  the  old  man  smiled. 

"When  I  don't  eat  anything  and  sit  perfectly  still, 
it  is  extraordinary  how  well  I  feel." 

How  he  felt  otherwise,  he  omitted  to  state.  A  gen 
tleman  never  talks  of  disagreeable  matters. 


II 

TN  the  shouted  extras  that  succeeded  the  initial  news 
•*•  of  the  murder,  Margaret  Austen  was  mentioned, 
not  as  the  criminal,  no  one  less  criminal  than  the  girl 
could  be  imagined,  but  as  being  associated  with  the 
parties  involved. 

That  was  her  misfortune  and  a  very  grievous  mis 
fortune,  though,  however  grievous,  it  was  as  nothing 
to  other  circumstances  for  which  she  subsequently 
blamed  herself,  after  having  previously  attributed  them 
to  fate,  or  rather,  as  fate  is  more  modernly  known, 
to  karma. 

Any  belief  may  console.  A  belief  in  karma  not  only 
consoles,  it  explains.  As  such  it  is  not  suited  to  those 
who  accept  things  on  faith,  which  is  a  very  good  way 
to  accept  to  them.  It  may  be  credulous  to  believe  that 
Jehovah  dictated  the  ten  commandments.  But  the 
commandments  are  sound.  Moreover  it  is  perhaps 
better  to  be  wrong  in  one's  belief's  than  not  to  have 
any. 

Margaret  Austen  believed  in  karma  and  in  many  re 
lated  and  wonderful  things.  Her  face  showed  it.  It 
showed  other  things ;  appreciation,  sympathy,  unworld- 
liness,  good-breeding  and  that  minor  charm  that  beauty 
is.  It  showed  a  girl  good  to  look  at,  good  through  and 
through;  a  girl  tall,  very  fair,  who  smiled  readily, 
rarely  laughed  and  never  complained. 

It  is  true  that  at  the  time  this  drama  begins  it  would 

8 


THE    PALISER   CASE  9 

have  been  captious  of  her  to  have  complained  of 
anything  were  it  not  that  life  is  so  ordered  that  it 
has  sorrow  for  shadow.  The  shadow  on  this  human 
rose  was  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Austen  had  seen  worse  days  and  never  pro 
posed  to  see  them  again.  Among  the  chief  assets  of 
her  dear  departed  was  a  block  of  New  Haven.  The 
stock,  before  collapsing,  shook.  Then  it  tripped,  fell 
and  kept  at  it.  Through  what  financial  clairvoyance 
the  dear  departed's  trustee  got  her  out,  just  in  time, 
and,  quite  illegally  but  profitably,  landed  her  in  Stand 
ard  Oil  is  not  a  part  of  this  drama.  But  meanwhile 
she  had  shuddered.  Like  many  another  widow,  to 
whom  New  Haven  was  as  good  as  Governments,  she 
might  have  been  in  the  street.  Pointing  at  her  had 
been  that  spectre — Want! 

It  was  just  that  which  she  never  proposed  to  see 
again.  The  spectre  in  pointing  had  put  a  mark  on 
this  woman  who  was  arrogant,  ambitious  and  horribly 
shrewd. 

A  tall  woman  with  a  quick  tongue,  a  false  front,  an 
air  of  great  affability  and,  when  on  parade,  admirably 
sent  out,  she  ruled  her  daughter,  or  thought  she  did, 
which  is  not  quite  the  same  thing. 

Margaret  Austen  was  ruled  by  her  conscience  and 
her  beautiful  beliefs.  These  were  her  masters.  This 
human  rose  was  their  lovely  slave.  But  latterly  a  god 
had  enthralled  her.  It  was  with  wonder  and  thanks 
giving  that  she  recognised  the  overlordship  of  that 
brat  of  a  divinity,  whom  poets  call  Eros,  and  thinkers 
the  Genius  of  the  Species. 

Mrs.  Austen,  who  had  danced  many  a  time  before 
his  shrine,  had  no  objection  whatever  to  the  godlet, 
except  only  when  he  neglected  to  appear  Olympianly, 


10  THE    PALISER   CASE 

as  divinity  should,  with  a  nimbus  of  rentrolls  and 
gold. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  he  had  come  to  Margaret  in 
deshabille,  that  is  to  say  without  any  discernible  nim 
bus,  he  affronted  Mrs.  Austen's  ambitious  eyes. 

Of  that  she  said  nothing  to  Margaret.  But  at  din 
ner  one  evening  she  summarised  it  to  Peter  Verelst 
who  sat  at  her  right. 

The  room,  which  was  furnished  with  tolerable  taste, 
gave  on  Park  Avenue  where  she  resided.  At  her  left 
was  Monty  Paliser.  Farther  down  were  Margaret, 
Lennox  and  Kate  Schermerhorn.  Coffee  had  been 
served.  Paliser  was  talking  to  Miss  Schermerhorn; 
Lennox  to  Margaret. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  Mrs.  Austen  said  evenly  to  Peter 
Verelst.  "But  what  can  I  do?" 

Peter  Verelst  was  an  old  New  Yorker  and  an  old 
beau.  Mrs.  Austen  had  known  him  when  she  was  in 
shorter  frocks  than  those  then  in  vogue.  Even  as  a 
child  she  had  been  ahead  of  the  fashion. 

"Do?"  Verelst  repeated.     "Do  nothing." 

"I  am  a  snob,"  she  resumed,  expecting  him  to  con 
tradict  her.  "I  did  hope  that  Margaret,  with  her  looks, 
would  marry  brilliantly." 

Peter  Verelst  bent  over  his  coffee.  "The  young 
man  next  door?" 

Out  of  the  corner  of  an  eye  Mrs.  Austen  glanced  at 
Paliser  and  then  back  at  Verelst.  "Well,  something 
of  the  kind." 

Verelst  raised  his  cup.  He  had  known  Lennox' 
father.  He  knew  and  liked  the  son.  For  Margaret 
he  had  an  affection  that  was  almost — and  which  might 
have  been — paternal.  But,  noting  the  barometer,  he 
steered  into  the  open. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  11 

"Have  Lennox  here  morning,  noon  and  night.  See 
to  it  that  Margaret  has  every  opportunity  to  get  sick 
to  death  of  him.  Whereas  if  you  interfere " 

Mrs.  Austen,  as  though  invoking  the  saints,  lifted 
her  eyes.  "Ah,  I  know!  If  I  had  not  been  inter 
fered  with  I  would  not  have  taken  Austen.  Much 
good  it  did  me!" 

Verelst,  his  hand  on  the  tiller,  nodded.  "There 
you  are!  That  locksmith  business  is  very  sound. 
Love  revels  in  it.  But  give  him  his  head  and  good 
bye.  Sooner  or  later  he  is  bound  to  take  to  his  heels, 
but,  the  more  he  is  welcomed,  the  sooner  he  goes.  The 
history  of  love  is  a  history  of  farewells." 

Paliser,  who  had  caught  the  last  phrase,  felt  like 
laughing  and  consequently  looked  very  serious.  The 
spectacle  of  two  antiques  discussing  love  seemed  to  him 
as  hilarious  as  two  paupers  discussing  wealth.  He 
patted  his  tie. 

"Very  interesting  topic,  Mrs.  Austen." 

The  woman  smiled  at  him.  "Love?  Yes.  How 
would  you  define  it?" 

Paliser  returned  her  smile.  "A  mutual  misunder 
standing." 

Mrs.  Austen's  smile  deepened.  "Would  you  like 
to  have  one?" 

"With  your   daughter,  yes." 

Et  moi  done !  thought  this  lady,  who,  like  others  of 
our  aristocracy,  occasionally  lapsed  into  French.  But 
she  said:  "Why  not  enter  the  lists?" 

"I  thought  they  were  closed." 

"Are  they  ever?" 

But  now  Verelst  addressed  the  too  charming  young 
man.  "How  is  your  father?" 

"In  his  usual  poor  health,  thank  you." 


12  THE    PALISER    CASE 

"What  does  he  say  about  the  war  ?" 

"Nothing  very  original — that  the  Kaiser  ought  to 
be  sent  to  Devil's  Island.  But  that  I  told  him  would 
be  an  insult  to  Dreyfus,  who  was  insulted  enough. *The 
proper  place  for  the  beast  is  the  zoo.  At  the^same 
time,  the  fellow  is  only  a  pawn.  The  blame  r^sts  on 
Rome — rests  on  her  seven  hills." 

Verelst  drew  back.  In  the  great  days,  or  more  ex 
actly  in  the  great  nights,  he  had  been  a  pal  oi  M.  P. 
That  palship  he  had  no  intention  of  extending  to 
M.  P.'s  son,  and  it  was  indifferently  that  he  asked: 
"In  what  way?" 

Kate  Schermerhorn,  who  had  been  talking  to  Mar 
garet  and  to  Lennox,  turned.  Lennox  also  had  turned. 
Paliser  had  the  floor,  or  rather  the  table.  He  made 
short  work  of  it. 

"It  was  Caesar's  policy  to  create  a  solitude  and  call 
it  peace.  That  policy  Rome  abandoned.  Otherwise, 
that  is  if  she  had  continued  to  turn  the  barbarians  into 
so  many  dead  flies,  their  legs  in  the  air,  there  would 
be  no  barbarian  now  on  the  throne  of  Prussia.  There 
would  be  no  Prussia,  no  throne,  no  war." 

You  ought  to  write  for  the  comic  papers,  thought 
Verelst,  who  said :  "Well,  there  is  one  comfort.  It 
can't  last  forever." 

With  feigned  sympathy  Mrs.  Austen  took  it  up. 
"Ah,  yes,  but  meanwhile  there  is  that  poor  Belgium !" 

"By  the  way,"  Paliser  threw  in.  "I  have  a  box  or 
two  for  the  Relief  Fund  at  the  Splendor  to-night. 
Would  anybody  care  to  go?" 

Kate  Schermerhorn,  who  looked  like  a  wayward 
angel,  exclaimed  at  it:  "Oh,  do  let's.  There's  to  be 
a  duck  of  a  medium  and  I  am  just  dying  to  have  my 
fortune  told." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  13 

Verelst  showed  his  handsome  false  teeth.  "No 
need  of  a  medium  for  that,  my  dear.  Your  path  is 
one  of  destruction.  You  will  bowl  men  over  as  you 

go." 

Kr:e  laughed  at  him.     "You  seem  very  upright." 

Mrs.  Austen  turned  to  Margaret.  "If  you  care  to 
go,  we  might  get  our  wraps." 

A  moment  later,  when  the  women  had  left  the 
room  and  the  men  were  reseated,  Verelst  stretched  a 
hand  to  Lennox.  "Again  I  congratulate  you  and  with 
all  my  heart." 

Keith  Lennox  grasped  that  hand,  shook  it,  smiled. 
The  smile  illuminated  a  face  which,  sombre  in  repose, 
then  was  radiant.  Tall  and  straight,  hard  as  nails,  he 
had  the  romantic  figure.  In  a  costume  other  than 
evening  clothes,  he  might  have  walked  out  of  a 
tapestry. 

With  ambiguous  amiability,  Paliser  smiled  also.  Al 
ready  Margaret's  beauty  had  stirred  him.  Already  it 
had  occurred  to  him  that  Lennox  was  very  invitingly 
in  the  way. 


Ill 


ballrooms  of  the  Splendor,  peopled,  as  Mrs. 
•*•  Austen  indulgently  noted,  with  Goodness  knows 
who  from  Heaven  knows  where,  received  her  and  her 
guests. 

Not  all  of  them,  however.  At  the  entrance,  Verelst, 
pretexting  a  pretext,  sagely  dropped  out.  Within, 
a  young  man  with  ginger  hair  and  laughing  eyes, 
sprang  from  nowhere,  pounced  at  Kate,  floated  her 
away. 

Mrs.  Austen,  Margaret,  Lennox  and  Paliser  moved 
on. 

In  one  room  there  was  dancing ;  in  another,  a  stage. 
It  was  in  the  first  room  that  Kate  was  abducted.  On 
the  stage  in  the  room  beyond,  a  fat  woman,  dressed  in 
green  and  gauze,  was  singing  faded  idiocies.  Beyond, 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room  was  a  booth  above  which 
was  a  sign — The  Veiled  Lady  of  Yucatan.  Beneath 
the  sign  was  a  notice :  All  ye  that  enter  here  leave 
five  dollars  at  the  door. 

The  booth,  hung  with  black  velvet,  was  additionally 
supplied  with  hierograms  in  burnished  steel.  What 
they  meant  was  not  for  the  profane,  or  even  for  the 
initiate.  Champollion  could  not  have  deciphered  them. 
Fronting  the  door  stood  a  young  woman  with  a  dark 
skin,  a  solemn  look  and  a  costume  which,  at  a  pinch, 
might  have  been  Maya. 

In  those  accents  which  the  Plaza  shares  with  May- 

14 


THE    PALISER   CASE  15 

fair,  she  hailed  Margaret.  "Hello,  dear !  Your  turn 
next." 

For  a  moment,  the  dark  skin,  the  solemn  look,  the 
costume  puzzled  Margaret.  Then  at  once  she  ex 
claimed:  "Why,  Poppet!"  She  paused  and  added: 
"This  is  Mr.  Paliser — Miss  Bleecker.  You  know  Mr. 
Lennox." 

But  now,  from  the  booth,  a  large  woman  with  high 
colour,  grey  hair  and  a  jewelled  lorgnette  rushed  out 
and  fastened  herself  on  the  sultry  girl. 

"Gimme  back  my  money.  Your  veiled  lady  is  a 
horror!  Said  I'd  marry  again!" 

She  raised  her  glasses.  "Mary  Austen,  as  I'm  a 
sinner!  Go  in  and  have  your  misfortunes  told.  How 
do  do  Margaret?  Marry  again  indeed!  Oughtn't 
I  to  have  my  money  back  ?" 

"Poppet  ought  to  make  you  pay  twice,"  Mrs.  Aus 
ten  heartlessly  retorted  at  this  woman,  the  relict  of 
Nicholas  Amsterdam,  concerning  whom  a  story  had 
come  out  and  who  had  died,  his  friends  said,  of  ex 
posure. 

Mrs.  Amsterdam  turned  on  Paliser  whom  she  had 
never  seen  before.  "What  do  you  say?" 

"I  am  appalled,"  he  answered. 

She  turned  again.  "There,  Poppet,  you  hear  that? 
Gimme  back  my  money." 

But  Miss  Bleecker  occupied  herself  with  Lennox, 
who  was  paying  for  Margaret. 

Margaret  entered  the  booth  where  a  little  old  wo 
man,  very  plainly  dressed,  sat  at  a  small  deal  table. 
From  above  hung  a  light.  Beside  her  was  a  vacant 
chair. 

"Sit  there,  please,"  the  medium,  in  a  low  voice,  told 
the  girl.  "And  now,  if  you  please,  your  hand." 


16  THE    PALISER    CASE 

Margaret,  seating  herself,  removed  a  glove.  The 
hand  in  which  she  then  put  hers  was  soft  and  warm  and 
she  feared  that  it  might  perspire.  She  looked  at  the 
woman  who  looked  at  her,  sighed,  closed  her  eyes  and 
appeared  to  go  to  sleep.  Then,  presently,  her  lips 
parted  and  in  a  voice  totally  different  from  that  in 
which  she  had  just  spoken,  a  voice  that  was  thin  and 
shrill,  words  came  leapingly. 

"You  are  engaged  to  be  married.  Your  engage 
ment  will  be  broken.  You  will  be  very  unhappy. 
Later,  you  will  be  thankful.  Later  you  will  realise 
that  sorrow  is  sent  to  make  us  nobler  than  we  were." 

With  an  intake  of  the  breath,  the  medium  started, 
straightened,  opened  her  eyes. 

At  the  shock  of  it  Margaret  had  started  also. 
"But " 

The  medium,  in  her  former  voice,  low  and  gentle, 
interrupted. 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing  else.  I  do  not  know  what 
was  said.  But  I  am  sorry  if  you  have  had  bad  news." 

Margaret  stood  up,  replacing  her  glove.  She  knew, 
as  we  all  know,  that  certain  gifted  organisms  hear 
combinations  of  sound  to  which  the  rest  of  us  are  deaf. 
She  knew,  as  many  of  us  also  know,  that  there  are 
other  organisms  that  can  foresee  events  to  which  the 
rest  of  us  are  blind.  But  she  knew  too  that  in  the 
same  measure  that  the  auditions  of  composers  are  not 
always  notable,  the  visions  of  clairvoyants  are  not  al 
ways  exact.  The  knowledge  steadied  and  partially 
comforted,  but  partially  only. 

At  the  entrance,  Lennox  stood  with  Miss  Bleecker. 
A  little  beyond  were  Paliser  and  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Amsterdam,  minus  her  money,  must  have  rushed 
away. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  17 

Poppet  Bleecker  laughed  and  questioned:  "No  hor 
rors?" 

Lennox  questioned  also,  but  with  his  eyes. 

Margaret  hesitated.  Then  she  got  it.  Taking  the 
girl's  hand  she  patted  it  and  to  Lennox  said,  and 
lightly  enough :  "Do  go  in.  I  want  to  see  if  what  the 
medium  says  to  you  conforms  with  what  she  said  to 
me." 

Yet,  however  lightly  she  spoke,  behind  her  girdle 
was  that  sensation  which  only  the  tormented  know. 

Beyond  on  the  stage,  the  fat  woman,  now  at  the 
piano,  was  accompanying  a  girl  who  was  singing  a 
brindisi.  The  girl  was  young,  good-looking,  unem 
barrassed,  very  much  at  home.  Her  dress,  a  black 
chiffon,  became  her. 

Then,  in  a  moment,  as  Lennox  entered  the 'booth, 
Margaret  joined  her  mother  and  looked  at  the  girl. 

"What  is  she  singing?" 

Paliser  covered  her  with  his  eyes.  "Verdi's  Segreto 
per  esser  felice — the  secret  of  happiness.  Such  a 
simple  secret  too." 

"Yes?"  Margaret  absently  returned.  She  was  look 
ing  now  at  the  booth.  Quite  as  vaguely  she  added: 
"In  what  does  it  consist?" 

"In  getting  what  we  do  not  deserve." 

There  was  nothing  in  that  to  offend.  But  the  man's 
eyes,  of  which  already  she  had  been  conscious,  did 
offend.  They  seemed  to  disrobe  her.  Annoyedly  she 
turned. 

Paliser  turned  with  her.  "Verdi's  bric-a-brac  is 
very  banal.  Perhaps  you  prefer  Strauss.  His  dis 
sonances  are  more  harmonic  than  they  sound." 

Now  though  there  was  applause.  With  a  roulade 
the  brindisi  had  ceased  and  the  singer  as  though 


i8  THE    PALISER   CASE 

pleased,  not  with  herself  but  with  the  audience,  bowed. 
The  fat  woman  twisting  on  her  bench,  was  also  smil 
ing.  She  looked  cheerful  and  evil. 

"I  do  believe  that's  the  Tamburini,"  Mrs.  Austen 
remarked.  "I  heard  her  at  the  Academy,  ages  ago." 
The  usual  touch  followed.  "How  she  has  gone  off!" 

The  fat  woman  stood  up,  and,  preceded  by  the  girl, 
descended  into  the  audience. 

Margaret  looked  again  at  the  booth.  Lennox  was 
coming  out.  He  said  a  word  to  Miss  Bleecker  and 
glanced  about  the  room. 

Margaret  motioned.  He  did  not  notice.  The  girl 
who  had  been  singing  was  bearing  down  on  him,  a 
hand  outstretched  and,  in  her  face,  an  expression 
which  Margaret  could  not  interpret.  But  she  saw 
Lennox  smile,  take  her  hand  and  say — what?  Mar 
garet  could  not  tell,  but  it  was  something  to  which  the 
girl  was  volubly  replying. 

"Who's  his  little  friend?"  Mrs.  Austen  in  her  even 
voice  inquired.  "Mr.  Paliser,"  she  added.  "Would 
you  mind  telling — er — my  daughter's  young  man  that 
we  are  waiting." 

Margaret  winced.  She  had  turned  from  Paliser 
and  she  turned  then  from  her  mother. 

Paliser,  whom  the  phrase  "my  daughter's  young 
man"  amused,  sauntered  away.  He  strolled  on  to 
where  Lennox  stood  with  the  girl.  The  fat  woman 
joined  them. 

Lennox  must  have  introduced  Paliser,  for  Margaret 
could  see  them  all  talking  at  once.  Then  Lennox  again 
looked  about,  saw  Margaret  and  her  mother,  and  came 
over. 

"Who's  your  friend  ?"  Mrs.  Austen  asked. 

Lennox'  eyes  caressed  Margaret.     Then  he  turned 


THE    PALISER    CASE  19 

to  her  mother.     "She  is  a  Miss  Cara.     Cassy  Cara  her 
name  is.     I  know  her  father.     He  is  a  violinist." 

And  my  daughter  is  second  fiddle,  thought  Mrs. 
Austen,  who  said:  "How  interesting!" 

With  his  sombre  air,  Lennox  summarised  it.  "She 
is  studying  for  the  opera.  The  woman  with  her, 
Madame  Tamburini,  is  her  coach.  You  may  have 
heard  of  her." 

"A  fallen  star,"  Mrs.  Austen  very  pleasantly  re 
marked.  Quite  as  pleasantly  she  added :  "The  proper 
companion  for  a  soiled  dove." 

The  charm  of  that  was  lost.  Margaret,  who  had 
not  previously  seen  this  girl  but  who  had  heard  of  her 
from  Lennox,  was  speaking  to  him. 

"It  was  her  father,  was  it?"  Then,  dismissing  it, 
she  asked  anxiously :  "But  do  tell  me,  Keith,  what  did 
the  medium  say?" 

"That  I  would  be  up  for  murder." 

Margaret's  eyes  widened.  But,  judging  it  ridicu 
lous,  she  exclaimed  :  "Was  that  all?" 

"All !"  Lennox  grimly  repeated.  "What  more  would 
you  have?"  Abruptly  he  laughed.  "I  don't  wonder 
Mrs.  Amsterdam  wanted  her  money  back." 

On  the  stage,  from  jungles  of  underwear,  legs  were 
tossing.  The  orchestra  had  become  frankly  canaille. 
Moreover  the  crowd  of  Goodness  know's  who  had 
increased.  A  person  had  the  temerity  to  elbow  Mrs. 
Austen  and  the  audacity  to  smile  at  her.  It  was  the 
finishing  touch. 

She  poked  at  Margaret.     "Come." 

As  they  moved  on,  a  man  smiled  at  Lennox,  who, 
without  stopping,  gave  him  a  hand. 

He  was  an  inkbeast.  But  there  was  nothing  com 
mercial  in  his  appearance.  Ordinarily,  he  looked  like 


20  THE    PALISER   CASE 

a  somnambulist.  When  he  was  talking,  he  resembled 
a  comedian.  In  greeting  Lennox  he  seemed  to  be  in 
a  pleasant  dream.  The  crowd  swallowed  him. 

"Who  was  that?"  Mrs.  Austen  enquired. 

'Ten  Eyck  Jones/' 

"The  writer?"  asked  this  lady,  who  liked  novels,  but 
who  preferred  to  live  them. 

Meanwhile  Paliser  was  talking  to  Cassy  Cara  and 
the  Tamburini.  The  latter  listened  idly,  with  her  evil 
smile.  Yet  Paliser's  name  was  very  evocative.  The 
syllables  had  fallen  richly  on  her  ears. 

Cassy  Cara  had  not  heard  them  and  they  would 
have  conveyed  nothing  to  her  if  she  had.  She  was  a 
slim  girl,  with  a  lot  of  auburn  hair  which  was  docked. 
The  careless-minded  thought  her  pretty.  She  was 
what  is  far  rarer;  she  was  handsome.  Her  features 
had  the  surety  of  an  intaglio.  Therewith  was  an  air 
and  a  look  that  were  not  worldly  or  even  superior,  but 
which,  when  necessary  as  she  sometimes  found  it, 
could  reduce  a  man,  and  for  that  matter  a  woman, 
to  proportions  really  imperceptible. 

A  little  beauty  and  a  little  devil,  thought  Paliser, 
who  was  an  expert.  But  leisurely,  in  his  Oxford  voice, 
he  outlined  for  her  a  picture  less  defined.  "You  re 
mind  me  of  something." 

With  entire  brevity  and  equal  insolence,  she  re 
turned  it.  "I  dare  say." 

"Yes.     Of  supper." 

"An  ogre,  are  you?" 

Paliser,  ruminating  the  possibilities  of  her  slim 
beauty  served  Regence,  smiled  at  this  girl  who  did  not 
smile  back.  "Not  Nebuchadnezzar  at  any  rate. 
Vegetarianism  is  not  my  forte.  Won't  you  and 


THE    PALISER    CASE  21 

Madame  Tamburini  take  potluck  with  me?     There 
must  be  a  restaurant  somewhere." 

The  fallen  star  moistened  her  painted  lips.  "Yes, 
why  not?" 

Born  in  California,  of  foreign  parents,  she  had 
neither  morals  or  accent  and  spoke  in  a  deep  voice. 
She  spoke  American  and  English.  She  spoke  the  easy 
French  of  the  boulevards,  the  easier  Italian  of  the 
operatic  stage.  She  never  spoke  of  Tamburini.  She 
left  him  to  be  imagined,  which  perhaps  he  had  been. 

From  the  room  they  went  on  into  a  wide,  crowded 
hall,  beyond  which  was  another  room,  enclosed  in 
glass,  where  there  were  tables  and  palms. 

As  they  entered,  a  captain  approached.  There  was  a 
smell  of  pineapple,  the  odour  of  fruit  and  flowers. 
From  a  gallery  came  the  tinkle  of  mandolins.  Mainly 
the  tables  were  occupied.  But  the  captain,  waving  the 
way,  piloted  them  to  a  corner,  got  them  seated  and 
stood,  pad  in  hand. 

Paliser  looked  at  Cassy  Cara.  She  was  hungry  as 
a  wolf,  but  she  said  indifferently:  "A  swallow  of  any 
thing." 

"One  swallow  does  not  make  a  supper,"  Paliser 
retorted  and  looked  at  the  Tamburini  who  appeared 
less  indifferent. 

"Ham  and  eggs." 

Without  a  quiver,  the  captain  booked  it. 

"Also,"  Paliser  told  him,  "caviare,  woodcock,  Ruin- 
art."  From  the  man  he  turned  to  the  girl.  "It  was 
very  decent  of  Lennox  to  introduce  me  to  you." 

Cassy  put  her  elbows  on  the  table.  "He  could  not 
be  anything  else  than  decent.  Don't  you  know  him 
well?" 

Paliser  shrugged.   "Our  intimacy  is  not  oppressive." 


22  THE    PALISER    CASE 

"He  saved  her  father's  life,"  the  Tamburini  put  in. 
"Her  father  is  a  musician — and  authentically  mar 
quis,"  she  added,  as  though  that  explained  everything. 

"We  are  Portuguese,"  said  Cassy,  "or  at  least  my 
father  is.  He  used  to  play  at  the  Metro.  But  he 
threw  it  up  and  one  night,  when  he  was  coming  home 
from  a  private  house  where  he  had  been  giving  a  con 
cert,  he  was  attacked.  There  were  two  of  them.  They 
knocked  him  down " 

"Before  he  had  time  to  draw  his  sword-cane,"  the 
fat  woman  interrupted. 

"Yes,"  Cassy  resumed,  "and  just  then  Mr.  Lennox 
came  along  and  knocked  them  down  and  saved  his 
violin  which  was  what  they  were  after." 

"It's  a  Cremona,"  said  the  Tamburini  who  liked 
details. 

"But  that  is  not  all  of  it,"  the  girl  continued.  "My 
father's  arm  was  broken.  He  has  not  been  able  to 
play  since.  Mr.  Lennox  brought  him  home  and  sent 
for  his  own  physician.  He's  a  dear." 

"Who  is?"  Paliser  asked.     "The  physician?" 

But  now  a  waiter  was  upon  them  with  a  bottle 
which  he  produced  with  a  pop!  Dishes  followed  to 
which  Cassy  permitted  the  man  to  help  her.  Her 
swallow  of  anything  became  large  spoonfuls  of  rich 
blackness  and  the  tenderness  of  savorous  flesh.  She 
was  not  carnal,  but  she  was  hungry  and  at  her  home 
latterly  the  food  had  been  vile. 

The  Tamburini,  with  enigmatic  ideas  in  the  back  of 
her  head,  ate  her  horrible  dish  very  delicately,  her 
little  finger  crooked.  But  she  drank  nobly. 

Paliser  too  had  ideas  which,  however,  were  not 
enigmatic  in  the  least  and  not  in  the  back  of  his  head 
either.  They  concerned  two  young  women,  one  of 


THE    PALISER    CASE  23 

whom  was  patently  engaged  to  Lennox  and  the  other 
probably  in  love  with  him.  The  situation  appealed 
to  this  too  charming  young  man  to  whom  easy  con 
quests  were  negligible. 

He  had  been  looking  at  Cassy.  On  the  table  was  a 
vase  in  which  there  were  flowers.  He  took  two  of 
them  and  looked  again  at  the  girl. 

"Sunday  is  always  hateful.  Couldn't  you  both  dine 
with  me  here?" 

The  former  prima  donna  wiped  her  loose  mouth. 
She  could,  she  would,  and  she  said  so. 

Paliser  put  the  flowers  before  Cassy. 

"Le  parlate  d'amor,"  the  ex-diva  began  and,  slightly 
for  a  moment,  her  deep  voice  mounted. 

Cassy  turned  on  her.     "You're  an  imbecile." 

With  an  uplift  of  the  chin — a  family  habit — Paliser 
summoned  the  waiter.  While  he  was  paying  him, 
Cassy  protested.  She  had  nothing  to  wear. 

She  had  other  objections  which  she  kept  to  herself. 
If  it  had  been  Lennox  she  would  have  had  none  at  all. 
But  it  was  not  Lennox.  It  was  a  man  whom  she  had 
never  seen  before  and  who  was  entirely  too  free  with 
his  eyes. 

"Come  as  you  are,"  said  the  Tamburini,  who  mas 
sively  stood  up. 

Paliser  also  was  rising.  "Let  me  put  you  in  a  cab 
and  on  Sunday " 

Cassy  gave  him  a  little  unsugared  look.  "You  take 
a  great  deal  for  granted." 

Behind  the  girl's  back  the  Tamburini  gave  him  an 
other  look.  Cheerful  and  evil  and  plainer  than  words 
it  said :  "Leave  it  to  me." 

Cassy,  her  perfect  nose  in  the  air,  announced  that 
she  must  get  her  things. 


24  THE    PALISER    CASE 

Through  the  emptying  restaurant  Paliser  saw  them 
to  the  entrance.  There,  as  he  waited,  the  captain  hur 
ried  to  him. 

"Everything  satisfactory,  sir?" 

"I  want  a  private  dining-room  on  Sunday." 

"Yes,  sir.     For  how  many?" 

"Two." 

"Sorry,  sir.     It's  against  the  rules." 

Paliser  surveyed  him.  "Whom  does  this  hotel  be 
long  to?  You?" 

The  captain  smiled  and  caressed  his  chin.  "No, 
sir,  the  hotel  does  not  belong  to  me.  It  is  owned  by 
Mr.  Paliser." 

"Thank  you.  So  I  thought.  I  am  Mr.  Paliser.  A 
private  dining-room  on  Sunday  for  two." 

But  now  Cassy  and  the  Tamburini,  hatted  and 
cloaked,  were  returning.  The  chastened  waiter  moved 
aside.  Through  the  still  crowded  halls,  Paliser  ac 
companied  them  to  the  street  where,  a  doorkeeper  as 
siduously  assisting,  he  got  them  into  a  taxi,  asked 
the  addresses,  paid  the  mechanician,  saw  them  off. 

Manfully,  as  the  cab  veered,  the  Tamburini  swore. 

"You  damn  fool,  that  man  is  rich  as  all  out 
doors." 


IV 

THE  house  in  which  Cassy  lived  was  what  is  agree 
ably  known  as  a  walk-up.  There  was  no  lift, 
merely  the  stairs,  flight  after  flight,  which  constituted 
the  walk-up,  one  that  ascended  to  the  roof,  where  you 
had  a  fine  view  of  your  neighbours'  laundry.  Such 
things  are  not  for  everybody.  Cassy  hated  them. 

On  this  night  when  the  taxi,  after  reaching  Harlem, 
landed  her  there  and,  the  walk-up  achieved,  she  let  her 
self  into  a  flat  on  the  fifth  floor,  a  "You're  late!"  fil 
tered  out  at  her. 

It  was  her  father,  who,  other  things  being  equal,  you 
might  have  mistaken  for  Zuloaga's  "Uncle."  The  lank 
hair,  the  sad  eyes,  the  wan  face,  the  dressing-gown, 
there  he  sat.  Only  the  palette  was  absent.  Instead 
was  an  arm  in  a  sling.  There  was  another  difference. 
Beyond,  in  lieu  of  capricious  manolas,  was  a  piano 
and,  above  it,  a  portrait  with  which  Zuloaga  had  noth 
ing  to  do.  The  portrait  represented  a  man  who  looked 
very  fierce  and  who  displayed  a  costume  rich  and  un 
usual.  Beneath  the  portrait  was  a  violin.  Beside  the 
piano  was  a  sword-cane.  Otherwise,  barring  a  rose 
wood  table,  the  room  contained  nothing  to  boast  of. 

"You're  late,"  he  repeated. 

His  name  was  Angelo  Cara.  When  too  young  to 
remember  it,  he  had  come  to  New  York  from  Lisbon. 
With  him  had  come  the  swashbuckler  in  oil.  He  grew 
up  in  New  York,  developed  artistic  tastes,  lost  the  oil 

25 


26  THE    PALISER   CASE 

man,  acquired  a  wife,  lost  her  also,  but  not  until  she 
had  given  him  a  daughter  who  was  named  Bianca,  a 
name  which,  after  elongating  into  Casabianca,  short 
ened  itself  into  Cassy. 

Meanwhile,  on  Madison  Avenue,  then  unpolluted, 
there  was  a  brown-stone  front,  a  landau,  other  acces 
sories,  the  flower  of  circumstances  not  opulent  but  easy, 
the  rents  and  increments  of  the  swashbuckler's  estate, 
which  by  no  means  had  come  from  Lisbon  but  which, 
the  rich  and  unusual  costume  boxed  in  camphor,  had 
been  acquired  in  the  import  and  sale  of  wine. 

The  fortune  that  the  swashbuckler  made  descended 
to  his  son,  who  went  to  Wall  Street  with  it.  There 
the  usual  cropper  wiped  him  out,  affected  his  health, 
drove  him,  and  not  in  a  landau  either,  from  Madison 
Avenue,  left  him  the  portrait,  the  violin,  the  table  and 
nothing  else. 

But  that  is  an  exaggeration.  To  have  debts  is  to 
have  something.  They  stir  you.  They  stirred  him. 
Besides  there  was  Cassy.  To  provide  for  both  was  the 
violin  which  in  his  hands  played  itself.  For  years  it 
sufficed.  Then,  with  extreme  good  sense,  he  fought 
with  the  Union,  fought  with  Toscanini,  disassociated 
himself  from  both.  Now,  latterly,  with  his  arm  in  a 
sling,  the  wolf  was  not  merely  at  the  door,  it  was  in  the 
living-room  of  this  Harlem  flat  which  Cassy  had  just 
entered. 

It  was  then  that  he  repeated  it.     "You're  late!" 

For  the  past  hour  he  had  sat  staring  at  things  which 
the  room  did  not  contain — a  great,  glowing  house ;  an 
orchestra  demoniacally  led  by  a  conductor  whom  he 
strangely  resembled;  a  stage  on  which,  gracile  in  the 
violet  and  silver  of  doublet  and  hose,  the  last  of  the 
Caras  bowed  to  the  vivas. 


THE    PALISER   CASE  27 

Then  abruptly  the  curtain  had  fallen,  the  lights  had 
gone  out,  the  vision  faded,  banished  by  the  quick 
click  of  her  key. 

But  not  entirely.  More  or  less  the  dream  was  al 
ways  with  him.  When  to-day  is  colourless,  where  can 
one  live  except  in  the  future?  To-day  is  packed  with 
commonplaces  which,  could  we  see  them  correctly,  are 
probably  false  for  in  the  future  only  beautiful  things 
are  true.  It  is  stupid  not  to  live  among  them,  par 
ticularly  if  you  have  the  ability,  and  what  artist  lacks 
it?  In  the  future,  there  is  fame  for  the  painter, 
there  is  posterity  for  the  poet  and  much  good  may  it  do 
them.  But  for  the  musician,  particularly  for  the 
song-bird,  there  is  the  vertigo  of  instant  applause.  In 
days  like  these,  days  that  witness  the  fall  of  empires, 
the  future  holds  for  the  donna,  for  the  prima  donna, 
for  the  prima  donna  assoluta,  the  grandest  of  earthly 
careers. 

That  career,  Angelo  Cara  foresaw  for  his  daughter, 
foresaw  it  at  least  in  the  hypnogogic  visions  which 
the  artist  always  has  within  beck  and  call.  In  the 
falsifying  commonplaces  of  broad  daylight  he  was  not 
so  sure.  Her  upper  register  had  in  it  a  parterre  of 
flowers,  but  elsewhere  it  lacked  volume,  lacked  line, 
lacked  colour,  and  occasionally  he  wondered  whether 
her  voice  would  not  prove  to  be  a  voix  de  salon  and  not 
the  royal  organ  that  fills  a  house.  Yet  in  the  straw 
berry  of  her  throat,  the  orifice  was  wide,  the  larynx 
properly  abnormal.  In  addition  the  Tamburini  was 
prophetically  comforting. 

But  did  the  woman  know  her  trade?  He  did  not 
believe  it.  He  believed  though  that  she  had  no  morals, 
never  had  had  any,  even  as  a  child.  It  was  the 
same  way  with  Rachel  and  the  fact  left  him  cold.  He 


28  THE    PALISER   CASE 

was  artistically  indifferent  to  what  the  putana  did  or 
omitted,  to  what  anybody  omitted  or  did.  But  any 
body  by  no  means  included  his  daughter.  At  the 
thought  of  anything  amiss  with  her,  presto!  his  sad 
eyes  flamed.  Very  needlessly  too.  Cassy  was  as  in 
different  to  other  people's  conceptions  of  decorum  as  he 
was  himself.  The  matter  did  not  touch  her.  Clear- 
eyed,  clean-minded,  she  was  straight  as  a  string. 

"How  did  it  go  ?"  he  asked. 

Cassy  laughed.  She  had  had  a  glass  of  champagne. 
She  had  too,  what  is  far  headier,  the  wine  of  youth. 

"Well,  I  didn't  see  any  showmen  tumbling  over  each 
other.  Mr.  Lennox  was  there.  He  asked  after  you, 
and  introduced  a  man  who  had  us  out  to  supper.  It 
was  very  good.  I  did  so  wish  for  you,  poor  dear." 

"What  man?     What  is  his  name?" 

"Paliser,  I  think.  Something  of  the  kind.  Ma 
Tamby  told  me." 

"Not  old  M.  P.?" 

"Perhaps,  I  don't  know.  He  has  hair  like  a  looking- 
glass.  He  did  not  seem  old ;  he  seemed  very  impudent. 
Ma  Tamby  says  he's  rich  as  all  outdoors." 

"That's  the  son  then.  Don't  have  anything  to  do 
with  him,  They're  a  bad  lot." 

"As  if  I  cared!  Ma  Tamby  said  he  could  get  me 
an  engagement." 

"Ha!  In  vaudeville  with  acrobats  and  funny  men 
and  little  suppers  to  follow." 

"Why  not  big  ones?" 

"Big  what?" 

"Big  goose!"  replied  Cassy,  who  removed  her 
gloves,  took  off  her  hat,  ran  a  pin  through  it,  put  it 
down. 

Her  father  stared.     Behind  the  girl  stood  a  blonde 


THE    PALISER    CASE  29 

brute  whom  the  supper  had  evoked.  He  wore  a  scowl 
and  a  bloody  apron.  In  his  hand  was  a  bill.  Behind 
him  was  the  baker,  the  candlestickmaker.  Behind 
these  was  the  agent,  punctual  and  pertinacious,  who 
had  come  for  the  rent.  Though  but  visions,  they  were 
real.  Moreover,  though  they  evaporated  at  once, 
solidly  they  would  return.  He  had  been  staring  at 
her,  and  through  her,  at  them.  In  staring  his  eyes 
filled.  Immediately  they  leaked. 

Cassy  bit  her  lip.  The  tumbril  and  the  guillotine 
would  not  have  made  her  weep.  Dry-eyed  she  would 
have  gone  from  one  to  the  other.  Besides,  what  on 
earth  was  he  wowing  about?  But  immediately  it  oc 
curred  to  her  that  he  might  be  experiencing  one  of 
the  attacks  to  which  he  was  subject.  She  leaned  over 
him.  "You  poor  dear,  is  it  your  heart?" 

He  brushed  his  eyes.  Dimly  they  lighted.  With 
artistic  mobility  his  face  creased  in  a  smile.  "No, 
farther  down." 

Cassy  moved  back.     "What  in  the  world " 

But  now  his  face  clouded  again.  "I  am  glad  you 
had  supper.  To-morrow  we'll  starve/' 

The  exaggeration  annoyed  her,  she  exclaimed  at  it 
and  then  stopped  short.  Already  she  had  envisaged 
the  situation.  But  it  was  idle,  she  thought,  to  excite 
him  additionally. 

"Well?"  he  almost  whinnied. 

But  as  he  would  have  to  know,  she  out  with  it. 
"There's  the  portrait,  there's  the  violin.  Either  would 
tide  us  over." 

In  speaking  she  had  approached  him  again.  He 
shoved  her  aside.  With  a  jerk  he  got  to  his  feet, 
struck  an  attitude,  tapped  himself  on  the  breast. 

"I,  Marquis  de  Casa-Evora,  sell  my  father's  picture ! 


30  THE   PALISER   CASE 

I,  Angelo  Cara,  sell  my  violin !  And  you,  my  daugh 
ter,  suggest  such  a  thing!  But  are  you  my  daughter? 
Are  you — oh !" 

It  trailed  away.  The  noble  anger,  real  or  assumed, 
fell  from  him.  No  longer  the  outraged  father,  he  was 
but  a  human  being  in  pain. 

Cassy  hurried  to  the  mantel  where,  in  provision  of 
these  attacks,  were  glass  tubes  with  amyl  in  them.  She 
took  and  broke  one  and  had  him  inhale  it. 

Then,  though  presently  the  spasm  passed,  the  wolf 
remained.  But  the  beast  had  no  terrors  for  Cassy. 
Buoyant,  as  youth  ever  is,  his  fangs  amused  her.  They 
might  close  on  her,  but  they  would  not  hurt,  at  any 
rate  very  much,  or,  in  any  case,  very  long.  Mean 
while  she  had  had  supper  and  for  the  morrow  she  had 
a  plan.  That  night  she  dreamed  of  it.  From  the 
dream  she  passed  into  another.  She  dreamed  she  was 
going  about  giving  money  away.  The  dream  of  a 
dream,  it  was  very  beautiful,  and  sometimes,  to  ex 
ceptional  beings,  beautiful  dreams  come  true,  not  in  the 
future  merely,  but  in  a  walk-up. 


V 

TN  Park  Avenue  that  night  there  was  no  dramatic 
•••  father  in  waiting.  There  were  no  bills,  no  scenes, 
no  thought  of  secret  errands;  merely  a  drawing-room 
in  which  a  fire  was  burning  and  where,  presently, 
Margaret  and  Lennox  were  alone. 

"I  have  letters  to  write,"  Mrs.  Austen  told  them. 

She  had  no  letters  to  write,  but  she  did  have  a  thing 
or  two  to  consider.  What  the  wolf  was  to  Cassy's 
father,  Lennox  was  to  her. 

At  dinner,  Peter  Verelst's  advice  to  do  nothing  had 
seemed  strategic.  At  the  Splendor,  it  had  seemed 
stupid.  The  spectacle  of  that  girl  hobnobbing  with 
Lennox  had  interested  her  enormously.  If  a  spectacle 
can  drip,  that  had  dripped  and  with  possibilities  which, 
if  dim  as  yet,  were  none  the  less  providential,  particu 
larly  when  viewed  spaciously,  in  the  light  of  other 
possibilities  which  Paliser  exhaled.  Mrs.  Austen  was 
a  woman  of  distinction.  You  had  only  to  look  at  her 
to  be  aware  of  it.  Yet,  at  the  possible  possibilities, 
she  licked  her  chops. 

Meanwhile,  with  the  seriousness  of  those  to  whom 
love  is  not  the  sentiment  that  it  once  was,  or  the  sensa 
tion  that  it  has  become,  but  the  dense  incarnate  mys 
tery  that  it  ever  should  be,  Margaret  and  Lennox  were 
also  occupied  with  the  future. 

In  connection  with  it,  Lennox  asked :  "Can  you  come 
to-morrow  ?" 


32  THE    PALISER    CASE 

As  he  spoke,  Margaret  released  her  hand.  Her 
mother  was  entering  and  he  stood  up. 

"Mrs.  Austen,"  he  resumed,  ''won't  you  and  Mar 
garet  have  tea  at  my  apartment  to-morrow  ?" 

He  would  have  reseated  himself  but  the  lady  saw 
to  it  that  he  did  not. 

"You  have  such  pleasant  programmes,  Mr.  Lennox. 
You  are  not  going  though,  are  you?  Well,  if  you 
must,  good-night." 

It  was  boreal,  yet,  however  arctic,  it  was  smiling, 
debonair.  As  such,  Lennox  had  no  recourse  but  to 
accept  it.  He  bent  over  Margaret's  hand,  touched  two 
of  Mrs.  Austen's  fingers.  In  a  moment,  he  had  gone. 

Mrs.  Austen,  smiling  still,  sat  down. 

"Nice  young  man.  Very  nice.  Nice  hats,  nice  ties, 
nice  coats.  Then  also  he  is  a  theosophist,  I  suppose, 
or,  if  not,  then  by  way  of  becoming  one.  What  more 
could  the  heart  desire?  Would  you  mind  putting 
out  one  of  those  lights?  Not  that  one — the  other." 

Gowned  in  grey  which  in  spite  of  its  hue  contrived 
to  be  brilliant,  Mrs.  Austen  rustled  ever  so  slightly. 
Always  a  handsome  woman  and  well  aware  of  it,  she 
was  of  two  minds  about  her  daughter's  looks.  They 
far  surpassed  her  own  and  she  did  not  like  that.  On 
the  other  hand  they  were  an  asset  on  which  she 
counted. 

She  rustled,  quite  as  slightly  again. 

"And  such  a  taking  way  with  him!  That  little 
singing-girl  whom  we  saw  to-night,  quite  a  pretty 
child,  didn't  you  think?  She  seemed  quite  smitten. 
Then  there  are  others,  one  may  suppose.  Yes,  cer 
tainly,  a  very  nice  young  man." 

"Mother !" 

"Well,   what?     Young  men   will   be   young  men. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  33 

Only  a  theosophist  could  imagine  that  they  would  be 
young  girls.  I  make  every  allowance  from  him — as 
doubtless  he  does  for  others.  This  is  quite  as  it  should 
be.  I  have  no  patience  with  model  young  men.  Model 
young  men  delight  their  mothers'  hearts  and  ruin 
their  wives*  temper.  They  remodel  themselves  after 
marriage.  Whereas  a  young  man  who  is  not  model  at 
all,  one  who  has  had  his  fling  beforehand,  settles  down 
and  becomes  quite  fat.  You  have  chosen  very  wisely, 
my  dear.  If  you  had  waited  you  might  have  had 
Paliser  and  I  should  not  have  liked  that.  He  is  too 
good." 

Margaret  stretched  a  hand  to  the  fire.  She  was  not 
cold  and  the  movement  was  mechanical.  But  she  made 
no  reply.  In  Matthew  we  are  told  that  for  every 
idle  word  we  utter  we  shall  answer  at  the  day  of 
judgment.  That  passage  she  had  longly  meditated. 
She  did  not  believe  that  Matthew  wrote  it  and  she  did 
not  believe  in  a  day  of  judgment.  Matthew  was  a 
peasant  who  spoke  Syro-Chaldaic.  It  was  not  sup- 
posable  that  he  could  write  in  Greek.  It  was  not  sup- 
posable  that  there  can  be  a  specific  day  of  judgment, 
since  every  moment  of  our  days  is  judged.  But 
through  Margaret  had  her  tolerant  doubts,  she  knew 
that  the  message  itself  was  sound.  It  did  not  con 
demn  evil  and  vulgar  words,  for  they  condemn  them 
selves.  What  it  condemned  was  idle  words  and  she 
regretted  that  her  mother  employed  them.  But  theos- 
ophy  is,  primarily,  a  school  of  good  manners.  The 
Gospel  condemns  idle  words,  theosophy  forbids  dis 
agreeable  ones. 

To  her  mother's  remarks,  she  made  therefore  no 
reply.  Instead,  she  changed  the  subject. 


34  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"Will  you  care  to  go  with  me  to  his  rooms  to 
morrow  ?" 

With  a  mimic  of  surprise  and  of  gentle  remon 
strance  that  was  admirably  assumed,  Mrs.  Austen 
lifted  a  hand. 

"But,  my  dear!  Were  you  thinking  of  going 
alone  ?" 

The  remonstrance,  however  gentle,  was  absurd  and 
she  knew  it.  Margaret  could  go  where  she  liked.  It 
would  all  be  chaste  as  a  piano-recital.  But  the  flea 
that  she  had  been  trying  to  put  in  the  girl's  ear  seemed 
very  ineffective.  She  is  just  as  I  was  at  her  age, 
thought  this  lady,  who,  in  so  thinking,  flattered  herself 
extraordinarily. 

She  shook  her  head.  "For  if  you  were,  it  would 
not  do.  Such  things  may  pass  in  London,  they  don't 
here.  But  to-morrow  is  Saturday,  isn't  it?  Yes,  to 
morrow  is  Saturday.  At  three  I  have  an  appointment 
with  the  dentist.  I'll  telephone  though.  That  always 
pains  them  and,  where  a  dentist  is  concerned,  I  do 
think  turn  about  is  fair  play." 

It  was  pleasantly  said.  To  make  it  pleasanter,  she 
stood  up  and  added :  "Are  you  to  sit  here  and  read? 
There  is  a  French  book  lying  around  somewhere  that 
belonged  to  your  dear  father.  I  don't  remember  who 
wrote  it  and  I  have  forgotten  the  title,  but  you  are 
sure  to  like  it.  There !  I  have  it.  It  is  called :  'L'art 
de  tromper  les  femmes.' ' 

Mrs.  Austen  moved  to  the  door  and  looked  back. 

"But  if  you  don't  find  it  readily,  let  it  go  for  to 
night.  Your  young  man  is  sure  to  have  a  copy.  No 
nice  young  man  is  without  one." 


VI 

LENNOX  was  a  broker,  a  vocation  which  he  prac 
tised  in  Wall  Street.  Early  on  the  following 
afternoon,  while  returning  from  there,  he  sat  wedged 
between  a  gunman  and  a  Hun.  He  was  unconscious 
of  either.  The  uncertain  market;  the  slump,  mo 
mentarily  undiscernible,  but  mathematically  inevitable ; 
customers,  credulous  or  sceptical,  but  always  avid; 
the  pulse  of  the  feverish  street  which  the  ticker  indif 
ferently  registered;  the  atmosphere  of  tobacco  and 
greed;  the  trailing  announcements;  "Steel,  three- 
fourths;  Pennsy,  a  half,"  these  things  were  forgot 
ten.  The  train  crashed  on.  Of  that  too  he  was  un-: 
conscious. 

Before  him  a  panorama  had  unrolled — the  day  he 
first  saw  her,  the  hour  he  first  loved  her,  the  moment 
he  first  thought  she  might  care  for  him — the  usual 
panorama  that  unfolds  before  any  one  fortunate 
enough  to  love  and  to  be  loved  in  return. 

"Grand  Central!" 

The  gunman  disappeared,  the  Hun  had  gone,  the 
car  emptied  itself  on  a  platform  from  which  it  was 
at  once  refilled.  Lennox  ascended  the  stair,  reached 
the  street,  boarded  a  taxi,  drove  to  his  home. 

The  latter,  situated  on  the  ground  floor  of  an  apart 
ment  house  a  step  from  Park  Avenue,  was  entirely 
commonplace,  fitted  with  furniture  large  and  ugly, 

35 


36  THE    PALISER   CASE 

yet  minutely  relieved  by  a  photograph  which  showed 
the  almost  perfect  oval  of  Margaret's  almost  perfect 
face. 

The  photograph  stood  on  a  table  in  the  sitting-room 
beyond  which  extended  other  rooms  that,  in  addition 
to  being  ugly,  were  dark.  But  Lennox  had  no  de 
grading  manias  for  comfort.  Pending  the  great  day 
he  camped  in  these  rooms,  above  which,  on  an  upper 
storey  was  a  duplex  apartment  which,  if  Margaret 
liked,  he  proposed  to  take. 

It  was  for  her  opinion  regarding  it  that  he  had 
asked  her  to  come.  In  the  forenoon  she  had  tele 
phoned  that  she  and  her  mother  would  both  be  with 
him.  He  had  instructed  his  servant  accordingly  and 
now  a  silver  tea-service  that  had  belonged  to  his 
grandmother  and  which,  being  Victorian,  was  hideous, 
gleamed  at  him  as  he  entered  the  rooms. 

Something  else  gleamed  also.  On  a  rug,  a  puddle 
of  sunlight  had  spilled. 

Above,  on  the  embossed  platter,  were  petits  fours, 
watercress  sandwiches,  a  sack  of  sweetmeats,  a  bunch 
of  violets,  a  scatter  of  cups.  Beneath  was  the  puddle. 

Lennox  looked.     It  seemed  all  right. 

Harris,  his  servant,  a  little  man,  thin  as  an  um 
brella,  sidled  silently  by.  The  vestibule  took  him. 
From  it  came  the  sound  of  a  voice,  limpid,  clear,  which 
Lennox  knew  and  knew  too  was  not  Margaret's. 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir,"  Harris,  reappearing  and 
effacing  himself,  announced. 

The  doorway  framed  her.  There,  with  her  shock 
of  auburn  hair,  her  cameo  face,  her  slim  figure  and 
her  costume  which,  though  simple,  was  not  the  ruin 
ous  simplicity  that  Fifth  Avenue  achieves,  Cassy  pre 
sented  a  picture  very  different  from  that  on  the  table, 


THE    PALISER    CASE  37 

a  picture  otherwise  differentiated  by  a  bundle  that  was 
big  as  a  baby. 

Lennox  did  not  know  but  that  it  might  contain  a 
baby  and  the  possibility  alarmed  this  man  who  was 
afraid  of  nobody. 

"Hello !"  he  exclaimed. 

In  exclaiming,  he  stared.  He  liked  the  girl.  But  at 
the  moment  she  was  in  the  way.  Moreover,  why  she 
had  come  to  these  rooms  of  his,  where  she  had  not 
been  invited,  and  where  she  had  not  ventured  before, 
was  a  mystery. 

"How's  your  father?"  he  added. 

There  are  people,  as  there  are  animals,  that  cannot 
be  awkward  and  are  never  ridiculous.  Cassy  was  one 
of  them.  None  the  less  she  stood  on  one  foot.  The 
tea-table  had  become  very  talkative.  It  told  her  that 
it  was  expecting  somebody ;  that  watercress  sandwiches 
were  not  for  her;  no,  nor  Victorian  horrors  either. 

"Be  off!"  it  shouted. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Lennox. 

Cassy,  hugging  the  bundle,  remained  in  the  door 
way.  It  was  not  the  tea-table  merely,  but  something 
else,  the  indefinable  something  which  one  may  feel 
and  not  describe  that  was  telling  her  to  hurry.  After 
ward,  with  that  regret  which  multiplies  tears  and 
subtracts  nothing,  she  wished  she  had  hurried,  wished 
rather  that  she  had  not  come,  wished  that  she  had 
defied  the  wolf,  outfaced  the  butcher,  done  anything 
except  enter  these  rooms. 

She  shifted  the  bundle.  "I  have  been  gadding  about 
in  Wall  Street.  I  never  was  there  before,  but  it  is  so 
nice  and  windy  I  may  go  there  again.  This  is  just  a 
good-day  and  good-bye." 


38  THE    PALISER   CASE 

As  she  spoke  she  turned,  and  as  she  turned  Lennox' 
heart  smote  him.  He  hurried  to  her. 

"See  here !  You  can't  go  like  this.  Have  a  cup  of 
tea." 

Cassy  gave  him  the  rare  seduction  of  her  smile. 
"Thank  you.  I  am  out  on  business  and  I  never  drink 
in  business  hours." 

But  now  Lennox  had  got  himself  between  her  and 
the  vestibule. 

"Business!"  he  repeated.  "What  is  it?  Anything 
in  my  line?  Let's  transact  it  here.  Wall  Street  is  no 
place" — for  a  pretty  girl  he  was  about  to  say  but,  de 
sisting,  he  substituted — "for  you." 

"But  you  are  expecting  people." 

"How  in  the  world  did  you  know?  Anyway,  they 
are  not  here  yet  and  if  they  were  they  would  be  glad 
to  meet  you." 

"I  wonder !"  said  Cassy,  whose  wonder  concerned 
not  their  pleasure  but  her  own,  and  concerned  it  be 
cause  she  hated  snobs,  among  whom  she  knew  that 
Lennox  moved. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  he  resumed. 

Cassy,  realising  that  it  must  be  then  or  never,  looked 
up  at  him. 

"You  remember  father's  violin?" 

"I  should  say  I  did." 

"Well,  my  business  in  Wall  Street  was  to  offer  it 
as — what  do  you  call  it? — as  collateral." 

Lennox  indicated  the  bundle.     "Is  that  it?" 

Cassy  nodded.  "I  had  to  hide  it  and  smuggle  it 
out  without  his  knowing  it.  He  thinks  it  stolen.  If 
he  knew,  he  would  kill  me.  As  it  is,  he  has  gone 
crazy.  To  quiet  him,  I  said  I  would  go  to  the  police." 

Lennox  laughed.    "And  I  am  the  police!" 


THE    PALISER    CASE  39 

"Yes,  you're  the  police." 

"All  right  then.  The  police  have  recovered  it.  Take 
it  back  to  him.  How  much  do  you  need?  Will  a 
hundred  do?" 

That  was  not  Cassy's  idea.  She  shook  her  docked 
head  at  it.  "You're  the  police  but  I  am  a  business 
man.  If  you  make  the  loan,  you  must  keep  the  col 
lateral." 

"You  are  a  little  Jew,  that's  what  you  are,"  Len 
nox,  affecting  annoyance,  replied. 

Cassy  smiled,  "I  like  your  jeu  d'esprit.  But  not 
well  enough  to  accept  money  as  a  gift." 

"Good  Lord!"  Lennox  protested.  "Look  here!  I 
am  not  giving  money  away.  I  don't  mean  it  as  a  gift. 
Pay  me  back  whenever  you  like.  Until  then,  what  do 
you  expect  me  to  do  with  that  thing?  Give  serenades? 
No,  take  it  back  to  your  father.  I  know  just  how  he 
feels  about  it.  He  told  me." 

Cassy  shifted  the  bundle.  "Good-bye  then."  But 
as  he  still  blocked  the  way,  she  added :  "Will  you  let 
me  pass?" 

Moralists  maintain  that  a  man  should  never  argue 
with  a  woman,  particularly  when  she  is  young  and 
good-looking.  He  should  yield,  they  assert.  Cassy's 
youth  and  beauty  said  nothing  audible  to  Lennox. 
They  said  nothing  of  which  he  was  then  aware.  In 
addition  he  was  not  a  moralist.  But  there  are  influ 
ences,  as  there  are  bacilli,  which  unconsciously  we 
absorb.  For  some  time  he  had  been  absorbing  a  few. 
He  did  not  realise  it  then.  When  he  did,  he  was  in 
prison.  That  though  was  later.  At  the  moment  he 
threw  up  his  hands. 

"I  surrender.  Will  you  mind  putting  it  down  some 
where?" 


40  THE    PALISER   CASE 

Cassy  turned.  Beyond  was  a  table  and  near  it  a 
chair  to  which  she  went.  There  she  dumped  the 
violin.  In  so  doing  she  saw  Margaret's  picture. 

"What  a  lovely  girl!" 

Lennox,  who  had  followed,  nodded.  "That  is  Miss 
Austen  to  whom  I  am  engaged/' 

"Oh!"  said  Cassy.  She  did  not  know  that  Lennox 
was  engaged.  But  suddenly  the  room  had  become  un 
comfortably  warm  and  she  blurted  it :  "How  happy 
she  must  be!" 

At  the  slip,  for  he  thought  it  one,  Lennox  laughed. 

"You  mean  how  happy  I  must  be,"  exclaimed  this 
rare  individual  to  whom  the  verb  to  be  happy  had  a 
present  tense,  yet  one  which  even  then  it  was  losing. 

He  had  been  fumbling  in  a  pocket.  From  it  he 
drew  a  wad  of  bills,  fives  and  tens,  and  made  another 
wad.  "Here  you  are.  I  will  mail  you  a  receipt  for 
the  collateral." 

Cassy,  taking  the  money  in  one  hand,  extended  the 
other.  "May  I  say  something?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

Cassy  could  talk  and  very  fluently.  But  at  the  mo 
ment  she  choked.  What  is  worse,  she  flushed.  Con 
scious  of  which  and  annoyed  at  it,  she  withdrew  her 
hand  and  said :  "It's  so  hot  here !" 

Lennox  looked  about,  then  at  her.  "Is  it?  Was 
that  what  you  wanted  to  say?" 

Cassy  shook  herself.  "No,  and  it  was  very  rude 
of  me.  I  wanted  to  thank  you.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Po 
liceman." 

"Good-bye,"  he  threw  after  the  girl,  who,  in  leav 
ing  the  room,  must  have  taken  the  sunlight  with  her. 
As  she  passed  over  the  rug,  the  puddle  passed  too.  It 
followed  her  out  like  a  dog. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  41 

That  phenomenon,  to  which  Lennox  then  attached 
no  significance,  he  afterward  recalled.  For  the  mo 
ment  he  busied  himself  with  pen  and  ink.  Presently 
he  touched  a  button. 

From  regions  beyond  the  little  old  man  appeared. 

Lennox  motioned  at  the  bundle.  "Take  that  to 
this  address.  Ask  for  Mr.  Cara  and  say  it  comes 
from  the  police.  From  the  police,  don't  forget,  Har 
ris." 

"I'll  not  forget,  sir." 

"And  go  now.  When  the  ladies  come,  I'll  open  the 
door." 

As  it  happened,  only  shadows  came.  The  shadows 
lengthened.  They  lapped  the  floor,  devoured  the  sil 
ver,  turned  the  rug  into  a  pit,  the  room  into  darkness. 
Apart  from  shadows,  no  one  came,  no  one  rang. 
But,  though  Lennox  was  unaware  of  it,  two  people 
did  come,  and  of  the  two  one  would  have  rung,  had 
not  the  other  prevented. 

Lennox  did  not  know  that.  On  the  inaccessible 
planes  where  events  are  marshalled,  it  was  perhaps 
prearranged  that  he  should  not. 


VII 

"jVyTARGARET,  on  her  way  to  Lennox  that  after- 
**•••  noon,  wondered  whether  it  might  not  be  pos 
sible  for  them  to  live  elsewhere. 

Born  and  bred  in  the  sordid  hell  with  a  blue  sky  that 
New  York  was  before  the  war,  latterly  the  sky  itself 
had  darkened.  The  world  in  which  she  moved,  dis 
tressed  her.  Its  parure  of  gaiety  shocked.  Those 
who  peopled  it  were  not  sordid,  they  were  not  even 
blue.  Europe  agonised  and  they  dined  and  danced, 
displayed  themselves  at  the  opera,  summarised  the 
war  as  dreadful,  dismissed  it,  gossiped  and  laughed. 
It  was  that  attitude  which  distressed  this  girl  who, 
had  she  been  capable  of  wishing  ill  to  any  one,  might 
have  wished  them  treated  as  were  the  elegantes  of 
Brussels. 

Margaret  had  no  such  evil  wish.  But  she  did  hope 
that  when  married,  she  might  reside  elsewhere. 

''There  goes  that  Mrs.  Tomlinson,"  said  her  mother. 
"Last  night  at  the  Bazaar — what  do  you  suppose  ?  She 
asked  me  to  dinner.  She  actually  did!  The  woman 
must  be  mad." 

Margaret  made  no  reply.  Park  Avenue  was  very 
bright.  To  her  also  for  the  moment  the  scientific 
savagery  of  the  Huns  was  remote.  The  brightness 
of  the  April  day  was  about  her. 

"I  am  in  rags,"  continued  Mrs.  Austen,  who  was 

42 


THE    PALISER    CASE  43 

admirably  dressed.  "On  Monday  I  must  really  look 
in  on  Marguerite.  She  is  an  utter  liar,  but  then  you 
feel  so  safe  with  her.  Where  is  it  that  your  young 
man  lives?  Somebody  said  that  lies  whiten  the  teeth. 
It  must  be  there,  isn't  it?  Or  is  it  here?  These 
places  all  look  alike,  none  of  them  seems  to  have  any 
numbers  and  that  makes  it  so  convenient." 

They  had  reached  a  chalk  cliff,  on  the  face  of  which 
were  windows,  balconies  and,  at  the  base,  two  low 
steps.  On  the  upper  step,  in  large  black  letters,  was 
the  cliff's  name. 

Through  glasses,  which  she  did  not  need,  Mrs. 
Austen  surveyed  it.  "The  Sandringham!  Why  not 
The  Throne?" 

Margaret  went  on  and  up.  Mrs.  Austen  followed. 
At  once  they  were  in  a  large,  marble-flagged  hall. 
Beyond,  from  a  lift,  a  boy  in  green  and  gilt,  peered 
greedily.  At  the  left  was  a  door  with  a  brass  plate 
that  said:  "Dr.  Winship."  Opposite  was  another 
door  with  another  plate  on  which  was  "Lennox." 

That,  also,  Mrs.  Austen  surveyed.  "I  did  not  know 
your  young  man  was  an  earl,  but  perhaps  he  is  merely 
a  duke.  Shall  we  send  that  boy  or  do  we  ring?  In 
bachelor  quarters  one  hardly  knows  what  to  do — or 
what  goes  on  in  them  either,"  she  immediately  and 
suggestively  added. 

The  door  at  the  right  had  opened.  Cassy  was  com 
ing  out.  The  flush  was  still  on  her  face  and  in  her 
hand  was  the  money.  Mechanically  she  thumbed  it. 
She  had  looked  down  at  the  roll  of  bills  and  through 
them  at  the  butcher,  the  baker,  the  candlestickmaker. 
She  looked  up  and  saw  Margaret  whose  photograph 
she  had  seen  a  moment  before.  Instantly  she  recog 
nised  her.  Instantly  she  realised  that  it  was  for  her 


44  THE   PALISER   CASE 

the  violets  and  the  sack  of  bonbons  were  waiting.  As 
quickly  she  understood  why  the  teapot  had  shouted: 
"Be  oft  I" 

From  Margaret  she  glanced  at  Mrs.  Austen,  who 
was  well  worth  it.  In  and  about  her  eyes  and  mouth 
there  was  an  expression  of  such  lofty  aloofness,  an 
air  of  such  aristocratic  disdain,  that  though  she  stood 
without  motion,  movement,  or  gesture;  though,  too, 
there  was  no  draught,  the  skirt  of  her  admirable  frock 
seemed  to  lift  and  avert  itself.  It  was  the  triumph  of 
civilised  life.  Yet  that  triumph  she  contrived  to 
heighten.  Raising  the  glasses  which  she  did  not  need, 
she  levelled  them  at  Cassy. 

Cassy,  who  had  but  glanced  at  her,  arrested  the 
glance  and,  for  a  second,  held  it  on  her,  but  with  an 
unconcern  so  obliterating  that  it  had  the  effect  of  blot- 
ting-paper.  Mrs.  Austen  felt  herself  disappearing. 
It  was  as  though  Cassy  had  looked  at  her  and  had 
seen  nothing  whatever. 

And  that  to  Mrs.  Austen!  The  lady  squirmed  but 
she  rallied,  the  more  readily  perhaps  since  now  Cassy 
had  gone,  and  she  said  and  pleasantly  enough :  "What 
a  charming  vestal!  Such  an  engaging  manner! 
Seemed,  too,  so  at  home!  Let  me  see?  It  was  she, 
was  it  not,  who  was  singing  last  night?  Rather  a 
coincidence,  don't  you  think?" 

Margaret  made  no  reply.  The  incident,  though  long 
in  the  telling,  had  barely  outlasted  a  moment,  and 
crossing  the  hall,  she  was  approaching  Lennox*  door. 

Without  haste,  Mrs.  Austen  circumvented  her. 
"Not  to-day,  my  dear.  As  it  is,  it  is  fortunate  we 
came  on  foot.  Otherwise,  it  would  have  been  awk 
ward  and  that  is  always  so  distressing.  Another  day." 

Quietly,  easily  she  had  got  herself  in  front  of  Mar- 


THE   PALISER   CASE  45 

garet  who,  without  shoving,  could  not  reach  the  bell. 

With  candid  eyes  she  looked  at  her  mother.  "You 
seem  to  be  suggesting " 

"Perish  the  thought!"  Mrs.  Austen  sweetly  and 
quickly  cut  in.  "I  would  not  even  suggest  that  one 
and  two  make  three,  for  perhaps  they  don't.  No,  my 
dear,  I  suggest  nothing.  I  merely  insist.  To-day  we 
must  postpone  our  little  visit  and  to-night,  when  he 
comes,  you  can  have  it  out  with  him.  A  lover's  quar 
rel!  What  more  could  you  wish?  But  here  now  is 
the  lift-boy.  We  must  dissemble.  It's  quite  like  a 
play. 

"No,"  she  interrupted  herself  to  remark  at  the  ap 
proaching,  greedy  and  enquiring  youth,  "I  want  noth 
ing  whatever  except  not  to  be  engaged  in  conver 
sation." 

"Whachyer  mean?"  asked  the  boy,  who,  however, 
promptly  blighted  by  her  level  stare,  omitted  to  pur 
sue  it. 

She  turned  again  to  Margaret.  "We  will  find  a 
taxi  at  the  corner.  These  first  spring  days  are  so 
enervating." 

Margaret  faced  her.    "I  am  going  in." 

The  sight  of  Cassy  issuing  from  Lennox'  rooms  had 
surprised  her,  as  the  unexpected  will  surprise.  But  in 
saying  that  she  was  going  in,  it  was  not  at  all  for  ex 
planations.  Explanations  are  for  strangers.  Love 
understands — or  should  understand,  and  Margaret 
divined  that  Cassy  had  come  on  some  errand  from  her 
father,  of  whose  waylaying  and  rescue  Lennox  had 
long  since  told  her. 

"Will  you  please  move  a  little?"  she  added. 

Mrs.  Austen,  after  routing  the  boy,  had  lowered 
her  glasses.  She  raised  them  again.  "Look  there!" 


46  THE   PALISER   CASE 

At  the  entrance  were  two  women  with  a  child  be 
tween  them.  On  the  stair  was  a  man.  The  door 
marked  "Dr.  Winship"  had  opened.  The  wide  hall 
was  suddenly  full  of  people. 

Mrs.  Austen  lowered  her  lorgnette.  "Don't  make 
a  scene,  my  dear.  At  least,  don't  make  one  over  my 
dead  body." 

Resistance  was  easy,  but  to  what  end?  Margaret 
felt  that  she  could  persist,  insist,  ring  and  go  in,  but 
now  only  to  be  accompanied  by  her  mother's  mocking 
and  stilted  sneers.  The  consciousness  of  that  sub 
tracted  the  brightness  from  the  day,  the  pleasure  from 
the  visit.  Then,  too,  that  evening  he  would  come. 
Then  they  would  be  alone. 

She  turned.  A  moment  more  and  both  were  in  the 
street,  where  Mrs.  Austen  forgot  about  the  taxi. 
Other  matters  occupied  the  good  woman  and  occupied 
her  very  agreeably.  She  had  been  playing  a  game, 
and  a  rare  game  it  is,  with  destiny.  The  stakes  were 
extravagant,  but  her  cards  were  poor.  Then  abruptly, 
in  one  of  the  prodigious  shuffles  that  fate  contrives,  a 
hand,  issuing  from  nowhere,  had  dealt  her  a  flush. 
She  purred  at  it,  at  the  avenue,  at  the  world,  at  her 
daughter. 

"I  am  so  glad  we  are  not  going  anywhere  to-night." 
A  car  flew  by,  a  gloved  hand  waved  and  the  purr  con 
tinued.  "Wasn't  that  Sarah  Amsterdam?  By  the 
way,  what  did  the  medium  tell  you?  Anything  about 
a  dark  man  crossing  your  path?  If  not,  it  was  very 
careless  of  her.  But  what  was  I  talking  about?  Oh, 
yes,  I  am  so  glad  we  are  to  be  at  home.  You  can  have 
a  nice,  quiet  evening  with  your  young  man.  Only, 
do  you  know,  I  wouldn't  say  anything  about  that  little 
vestal.  He  might  not  like  it.  Men  are  so  queer.  They 


THE   PALISER   CASE  47 

hate  to  be  misunderstood  and  to  be  understood  makes 
them  furious.  No,  I  wouldn't  mention  it.  But  now 
isn't  he  as  full  of  surprises  as  a  grab-bag?  I  thought 
him  a  model  of  the  most  perfect  propriety,  and  that 
only  shows  how  wrong  it  is  to  judge  by  appearances.' 
Model  young  men  always  remind  me  of  floor-walkers. 
Who  was  that  that  just  bowed  ?  Dear  me,  so  it  was, 
and  he  looked  so  down  in  the  mouth  he  might  have 
been  a  dentist.  On  Monday  I  really  must  go  to  my 
dentist.  He  does  hurt  terribly  and  that  is  so  reassur 
ing.  You  feel  that  you  are  getting  your  money's 
worth.  Don't  your  teeth  need  attending  to  ?  Ah,  here 
we  are  at  last !  God  bless  our  home !" 

Entering  the  hall,  she  looked  at  a  little  room  to  the 
right  in  which  the  manager  awed  prospecting  tenants. 
Usually  it  was  empty.  It  was  empty  then.  Mrs. 
Austen  looked,  passed  on  and,  preceding  Margaret, 
entered  a  lift  that  floated  them  to  the  home  on  which 
she  had  asked  a  blessing. 


VIII 

THE  Italians  have  a  proverb  about  waiting  for 
some  one  who  does  not  come.  They  call  it 
deadly.  Among  the  lapping  shadows  Lennox  felt  the 
force  of  it.  But  concluding  that  visitors  had  detained 
his  guests,  he  dressed  and  went  around  a  corner  or 
two  to  the  Athenaeum  Club  where  usually  he  dined. 

In  the  main  room  which  gives  on  Fifth  Avenue,  he 
found  Ten  Eyck  Jones  talking  war.  Jones  was  a 
novelist,  but  he  did  not  look  like  one.  There  was 
nothing  commercial  in  his  appearance,  which  was  that 
of  a  man  half -asleep,  except  when  he  talked  and  then 
he  seemed  very  much  awake.  He  was  not  fat  and 
though  an  inkbeast,  he  dressed  after  the  manner  of 
those  who  put  themselves  in  the  best  hands  and  then 
forget  all  about  it.  But  for  Lennox  he  had  a  superior 
quality,  he  was  a  friend.  With  him  was  Harry  Cantil- 
lon,  who,  the  night  before,  had  danced  away  with  Kate 
Schermerhorn.  Straddling  an  arm  of  Cantillon's 
chair  was  Fred  Ogston,  a  young  man  of  a  type  that, 
even  before  the  war,  was  vanishing  and  which  was 
known  as  about  town.  Adjacently  sat  Peter  Verelst. 
Servants  brought  little  decanters  and  removed  others. 
In  a  corner  an  old  man  glared  with  envious  venom  at 
the  liquors  of  which  he  had  consumed  too  many  and 
of  which,  at  the  price  of  his  eyesight,  he  could  con 
sume  no  more. 

Jones  waved  at  Lennox.  "I  have  been  telling  these 

48 


THE    PALISER    CASE  49 

chaps  that  before  they  are  much  older  they  will  be  in 
khaki." 

"Houp !"  cried  Cantillon.  He  sprang  up,  ran  to  the 
arched  entrance,  where,  lightly,  without  effort,  he 
turned  a  somersault  and  was  gone. 

The  old  man  in  the  corner  raised  himself,  shuffled 
to  a  table,  sat  down  and  wrote  to  the  house  committee. 
Such  conduct  could  not  be  tolerated !  Having  said  it, 
he  raised  himself  again  and  shuffled  over  with  the 
letter  to  Dunwoodie,  a  lawyer  with  the  battered  face 
of  a  bulldog  and  a  ruffian's  rumpled  clothes. 

Dunwoodie,  instead  of  taking  the  letter,  gave  the 
old  man  a  look,  one  look,  his  famous  look,  the  look 
with  which — it  was  said — he  reversed  the  Bench. 
Angrily  the  old  man  turned  tail,  collided  with  Paliser, 
apologised  furiously,  damning  him  beneath  his  breath, 
damning  Dunwoodie,  damning  the  house  committee, 
damning  the  club. 

"Are  you  to  dine  here?"  Jones  asked  Ogston,  who 
swore  gently,  declaring  that,  worse  luck,  he  was  due 
at  his  aunt's. 

"But  you  are,"  Jones  told  Lennox.  "Come  on  and 
I'll  make  your  hair  stand  on  end."  He  turned :  "And 
yours,  too." 

Peter  Verelst  smoothed  the  back  of  his  head. 
"Thank  you,  Ten  Eyck.  But  such  hair  as  I  have  I 
prefer  should  remain  as  it  is." 

The  two  men  went  on  and  up  into  another  room, 
spacious,  high-ceiled,  set  with  tables,  where  a  captain 
got  them  seated,  took  their  orders,  carefully  trans 
mitted  them  to  a  careful  waiter,  an  omnibus  mean 
while  producing  ice-water  which  Jones  had  promptly 
removed. 

He  smiled  at  Lennox.     "Who  was  the  jeunesse  you 


50  THE    PALISER    CASE 

and  Paliser  were  talking  to  last  night?  She  had  been 
singing." 

Lennox  unfolded  a  napkin.  "I  thought  you  were  to 
make  my  hair  stand  on  end." 

"Well,"  said  the  novelist,  who  spoke  better  than  he 
knew,  "she  may  make  Paliser's.  There's  a  young  man 
with  plenty  of  perspective.  I  saw  him  in  London  just 
before  the  deluge.  He  was  then  en  route  for  the  Mar 
quesas.  I  envied  him  that.  I  envied  him  the  vanilla- 
scented  nights;  the  skies,  a  solid  crust  of  stars,  and 
also,  and  particularly,  the  tattooed  ghosts.  But  I  am 
forgetting  your  hair.  Were  you  ever  in  Berlin?" 

Lennox  scowled.     "Yes.     Once." 

"And  once  is  too  often.  The  last  time  I  was  there, 
I  looked  down  the  Wilhelmstrasse  and  it  got  up  and 
threatened  me.  Barring  the  possibilities  of  future 
avatars,  I  shall  not  promenade  there  again.  But  I 
would  give  a  red  pippin,  I  would  give  two  of  them,  to 
have  been  in  Potsdam  on  that  night,  that  cloudless 
night,  the  night  in  July,  when  in  a  room,  gorgeous  as 
only  vulgarity  could  made  it,  there  was  sounded  the 
crack  of  doom." 

Jones  gestured  and  a  waiter  hurried  to  him.  He 
motioned  him  away. 

"You  can  picture  it,  Lennox,  or,  if  not,  who  am  I 
to  refuse  my  aid?  At  the  doors  were  lackeys;  at  the 
gates  were  guards.  Without  and  beyond,  to  the  four 
points  of  the  compass,  an  unsuspecting  world  slept, 
toiled,  feasted,  fasted,  occupied  with  its  soap-bubble 
hates  and  loves.  But,  in  that  room,  saurians,  with 
titles  as  long  as  your  arm,  were  contriving  a  cataclysm 
that  was  to  exceed  the  deluge.  Since  then,  and  though 
it  be  but  through  the  headlines,  you  and  I  stand  witness 
to  events  that  no  mortal  ever  saw  before.  That  night, 


THE    PALISER    CASE  51 

in  that  room  they  were  concocted.  By  comparison, 
what  are  the  mythical  exploits  of  Homer's  warriors, 
the  fabulous  achievements  of  Charlemagne's  paladins, 
the  fading  memories  of  Napoleon's  campaigns  ?  What 
are  they  all  by  comparison  to  a  world  in  flames? 
Hugo,  with  his  usual  sobriety,  said  that  Napoleon  in 
convenienced  God.  Napoleon  wanted  Europe.  These 
gunmen  want  the  earth.  They  won't  get  it.  Hell 
is  their  portion.  But,  while  they  were  planning  the 
crib-cracking,  I  would  give  a  red  pippin  to  have  been 
in  their  joint  that  night.  A  little  more  trout?" 

Jones  turned  to  the  waiter.  "Take  it  away  and 
fetch  the  roast." 

He  was  about  to  give  other  orders,  yet  these  Len 
nox  interrupted. 

"But  look  here.  You  spoke  of  an  unsuspecting 
world.  The  Kaiser  had  been  rattling  the  sabre  for 
years.  Everybody  knew  that." 

"So  he  had,"  said  Jones,  who  contradicted  no  one. 
"But  England  did  not  take  him  seriously,  nor  did  this 
country  either.  Consequently,  when  the  war  began 
it  was  regarded  as  but  another  robber-raid  which 
shortly  would  be  over.  That  was  an  idea  that  every 
body  shared,  even  to  the  Kaiser,  who  afterward  said 
that  he  had  not  wanted  this  war.  Incredible  as  it  may 
seem  he  spoke  the  truth.  He  did  not  want  a  war  in 
which  he  would  be  tripped  on  the  Marne,  blocked  on 
the  Yser  and  foiled  at  Verdun.  He  wanted  a  war 
in  which  France  would  be  felled,  Russia  rolled  back, 
a  war  in  which,  over  Serbia's  ravaged  corpse,  his 
legions  could  pour  down  across  the  Turkish  carpet 
into  the  realm  where  Sardanapalus  throned,  beyond 
to  that  of  Haroun-al-Raschid,  on  from  thence  to 
Ormus  and  the  Ind,  and,  with  the  resulting  thralls 


52  THE    PALISER   CASE 

and  treasure,  overwhelm  England,  gut  the  United 
States,  destroy  civilisation  and,  on  the  ruins,  set 
Deutschland  iiber  Alles!" 

"Hear!  Hear!"  said  Lennox  from  between  bites. 

Jones,  after  a  momentary  interlude  with  a  fork,  got 
back  at  it.  "That  is  what  he  wanted!  But  to  get  it, 
he  lacked  one  thing,  one  thing  only.  He  had  every 
thing  else,  he  had  everything  that  forethought,  inge 
nuity  and  science  could  provide.  The  arsenals  were 
stocked.  The  granaries  were  packed,  the  war-chests 
replete.  Grey-green  uniforms  were  piled  endlessly  in 
heaps.  Kiel — previously  stolen  from  Denmark,  but 
then  reconstructed  and  raised  to  the  war  degree — at 
last  was  open.  The  navy  was  ready.  The  army  was 
ready.  Against  any  possible  combination  of  European 
forces,  the  oiled  machine  was  prepared.  In  addition, 
clairvoyance  had  supplied  the  pretext  and  stupidity  the 
chance.  Petersburg  was  then  in  the  throes  of  a  gen 
eral  strike — which  the  Wilhelmstrasse  had  engineered. 
In  Paris,  the  slipshod  condition  of  the  army  had  been 
publicly  denounced.  England  and  Ireland  were  nearly 
at  each  other's  throats.  Yet,  had  they  been  in  each 
other's  arms,  the  Kaiser  was  convinced  that  England 
would  not  interfere.  Moreover  in  France,  mobilisa 
tion  required  weeks ;  in  Russia,  months ;  and  even  then 
the  Russian  army,  otherwise  unequipped,  the  Tsarina 
had  supplied  with  two  hundred  Teuton  generals.  That 
woman  used  to  exclaim  at  her  resemblance  to  Marie 
Antoinette.  She  flattered  herself.  It  is  Bazaine  whom 
she  resembled.  But  where  was  I?  Oh,  yes.  The 
opportunity  was  so  obvious  and  everything  so  neatly 
prepared  that,  for  good  measure,  the  pretext  was 
added.  An  archduke,  sinister  when  living  and  still 
more  sinister  dead,  was,  by  the  Kaiser's  orders,  bombed 


THE    PALISER    CASE  53 

to  bits  and  the  bombing  fastened  on  Serbia.  Allied 
stupidity  provided  the  opportunity,  imperial  fore 
thought  supplied  the  rest.  Since  highwayry  began, 
never  was  there  such  a  chance.  On  the  last  gaiter 
was  the  last  button.  The  Kaiser  lacked  but  one  thing." 
Lennox  shoved  at  his  plate.  "So  you  have  said." 
Jones,  abandoning  his  fork,  repeated  it.  "One 
thing !  In  Potsdam,  on  that  cloudless  July  night,  when 
the  world,  on  which  he  proposed  to  batten,  slept,  toiled, 
feasted,  fasted,  occupied  with  its  futile  loves  and  hates, 
that  thing  must  have  occurred  to  him." 
"Yes,  but  confound  it,  what  was  it?" 
Jones  lit  a  cigar.  "Bernstorff  said,  or  is  said  to  have 
said — I  do  not  count  him  among  my  acquaintances — 
that  on  that  night  this  supercanaille  showed  symptoms 
of  what  I  think  I  have  seen  described  as  vacillation. 
That  is  quite  on  the  cards.  It  bears  out  my  theory. 
In  any  event  the  fellow  had  his  ambitions.  He  wanted 
to  descend  into  the  red  halls  of  history  disguised.  He 
might  have  succeeded.  History  is  very  careless  and 
to-day  barely  recalls  that  at  five  o'clock  on  the  morn 
ing  succeeding  his  marriage  to  a  dowdy  fat  girl,  he 
treated  his  regiment  to  a  drill.  The  fact  is  uninter 
esting  and  would  be  equally  unimportant  were  it  not 
for  the  note  that  it  struck.  Subsequently,  when  he 
leaped  on  the  throne,  he  shouted  that  those  who  op 
posed  him  he  would  smash.  "There  is  no  other  law 
than  mine";  he  later  announced — a  fine  phrase  and 
yet  but  a  modern  variant  of  Domitian's :  "Your  god 
and  master  orders  it."  Incidentally,  in  addition  to  the 
Garter,  an  honorific  which  the  Duke  of  Cambridge 
admirably  summarised  as  "having,  sir,  none  of  the 
damned  nonsense  of  merit  about  it,"  he  had  other  dis 
tinctions.  He  had — and  has — uranomania,  that  is 


54  THE   PALISER   CASE 

to  say,  a  flight  of  fancy  in  which  the  patient  believes 
himself  associated  with  God.  He  had  also  defilirium 
tremens,  which  manifested  itself  in  those  manoeuvres 
that  are  war's  image  and  in  which  the  troops  defile. 
Yet,  when  it  came  to  the  real  thing,  it  may  be  that  this 
paradomaniac  lacked  the  stomach.  Apart  from  the 
Kruger  incident,  and  one  or  two  other  indecencies, 
his  observance  of  international  etiquette  was  relatively 
correct.  The  lackeys  of  history  might  therefore  have 
deodorised  him.  With  a  sow's  ear  a  lot  may  be  done. 
Have  a  cigar?" 

Lennox  laughed.     "I  would  prefer  the  point." 

"Now,  how  greedy  you  are.  Well  then,  here  it  is. 
On  that  fatidic  night  in  July,  this  fellow  was  fifty- 
five." 

"What  of  it?" 

"Everything.  At  his  age  Alexander  had  been  dead 
twenty  years." 

As  Jones  spoke  he  raised  his  hands.  "Spirit  of  the 
Great  Sinner,  forgive  me !  This  scrofulous  dwarf  has 
no  kinship  with  thee! 

"No,"  Jones,  dropping  his  hands,  resumed.  "None. 
His  kin  are  Herod,  Caracalla,  Attila,  Genghis  Khan, 
and  Cloacus,  Lord  of  Sewers.  Those  are  his  kin.  To 
the  shade  of  the  Lampsacene,  whom  the  world  had 
forgotten;  to  that  of  Cloacus,  whom  civilisation  had' 
ignored,  subsequently  he  devoted  the  army.  For  the 
troops  he  invoked  them.  But  that  night  the  ghosts 
of  the  others  gave  him  pause.  At  his  age,  Caracalla, 
Attila,  Genghis,  were  dead.  They  had  died  hideous, 
monstrous— but  young.  Herod  alone  may  have 
seemed  a  promising  saint  to  swear  by,  though,  in  the 
obscurities  of  Syrian  chronology,  even  of  him  he  could 
not  be  sure.  The  one  kindred  hyena  who,  at  fifty-five, 


THE   PALISER   CASE  55 

had  defied  the  world  was  Tsi  An,  the  Chinese  Empress, 
and  he  had  helped  to  squelch  her.  Do  you  see  it  now  ? 
To  burglarise  the  world,  this  thug  had  every  advan 
tage.  The  police  were  asleep.  The  coast  was  clear. 
The  jimmies  and  the  dynamite  sticks  were  ready. 
Even  the  dark  lantern  was  packed.  The  kit  was  com 
plete.  He  had  everything.  He  lacked  nothing,  except 
the  one  essential — Youth !  The  eyes  of  youth  are  clear. 
His  were  too  dimmed  to  foresee  that  the  allies " 

Lennox  was  rising. 

Amiably  Jones  switched  on  and  off  again.  "Hold 
on  a  minute.  You  have  not  given  me  the  "Who's  Who 
of  that  young  woman." 

In  Lennox'  brain,  instantly  cells  latent,  alert,  and  of 
which  he  was  entirely  unconscious,  functioned  ac 
tively.  Before  him  Cassy  stood.  Beside  her  was  an 
other.  This  other,  very  lovely,  was  a  saint.  Yet, 
prompted  still  by  the  cells  and  equally  unaware  of  it, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  a  lovely  saint  may  resemble  a 
vase  that  is  exquisite,  but  unresilient  and  perhaps  even 
empty.  Whereas  a  siren,  like  Cassy 

Abruptly  he  caught  himself  up.  The  unawaited 
disloyalty  into  which  he  had  floundered,  surprised  and 
annoyed  him.  He  could  not  account  for  the  delicate 
infidelity  and  perplexedly  he  looked  at  Jones  who  still 
was  at  it. 

"The  diva  I  mean.  The  diva  in  duodecimo  who  sang 
at  the  Bazaar/' 

Lennox  shook  himself  and  sat  down  again.  Mod 
estly  then  the  thrice-told  tale  was  repeated — Angelo 
Cara,  a  violin  in  one  hand,  a  sword-cane  in  the  other, 
trudging  home.  The  attack,  the  rout,  the  rescue,  the 
acquaintance  with  Cassy  that  ensued. 

Jones,  absorbing  the  story,  pigeonholed  his  memory 


56  THE   PALISER   CASE 

with  the  details  which,  sometime,  for  copy  purposes, 
might  be  of  use. 

"They  are  Portuguese, "  Lennox,  rising  again,  con 
cluded. 

Jones  peered  about.  The  great  room  was  filled  with 
members,  eating,  drinking,  laughing,  talking — talking 
mainly  of  nothing  whatever.  He  motioned.  "Isn't 
that  Cantillon  over  there  with — of  all  people! — Dun- 
woodie?" 

Lennox  looked  and  nodded.  "Cantillon  is  in  Dun- 
woodie's  office.  He  asked  me  to  give  him  my  law 
business."  Indifferently,  with  the  air  of  one  consider 
ing  the  improbable,  Lennox  added :  "Some  day  I  may. 
Good-night." 

But  in  the  night  into  which  he  then  went,  already 
that  day  was  breaking. 


IX 


THAT  same  evening,  as  Lennox  was  leaving  the 
club,  Mrs.  Austen,  rising  from  the  dinner-table, 
preceded  Margaret  into  the  drawing-room  and  looked 
at  the  clock,  a  prostrate  nymph,  balancing  a  dial  on 
the  soles  of  her  feet.  At  the  figures  on  the  dial,  the 
nymph  pointed  a  finger. 

From  the  clock  Mrs.  Austen  turned  and  exclaimed 
at  the  windows  which  she  had  already  examined. 
"The  jardinieres  have  not  yet  been  attended  to!  It 
is  inconceivable!" 

Margaret,  who  had  seated  herself,  said:  "You 
might  send  for  the  manager." 

"He  would  only  keep  me  waiting  and  then  expect 
me  to  tell  him  what  I  wanted.  He  ought  to  know. 
Besides,  I  might  have  forgotten.  It  is  very  tiresome." 

Margaret  stood  up.     "I  will  tell  him." 

With  a  click,  Mrs.  Austen  unfurled  a  fan  and,  with 
another  click,  refurled  it.  "No.  I  will  see  him  my 
self.  I  am  quite  in  the  humour." 

Margaret  looked  after  her  mother,  who  was  leaving 
the  room.  The  sudden  tempest  in  a  flowerpot  sur 
prised  her.  But  the  outer  door  closed.  Margaret  re 
seated  herself.  Presently  he  would  come  and  together 
they  would  make  those  plans  that  lovers  make — and 
then  unmake,  unless,  elsewhere,  they  have  been  made 
for  them. 

Meanwhile  she  waited.  The  incident  at  the  Sand- 

57 


58  THE   PALISER   CASE 

ringham,  the  sight  of  Cassy,  her  mother's  facile  insin 
uations,  these  things  had  distressed  her,  because,  and 
only  because,  they  had  prevented  her  from  enjoying 
the  innocent  pleasure  of  the  innocent  visit  to  the  rooms 
of  her  betrothed,  whom  she  loved  with  a  love  that 
was  too  pure  and  too  profound,  to  harbour  doubt  and 
suspicion  and  that  evil  child  of  theirs  which  jealousy 
is.  Her  faith  was  perfect.  That  faith  showed  in  her 
face  and  heightened  her  beauty  with  a  candour  that 
should  have  disarmed  her  mother,  who,  in  the  hall  be 
low,  was,  at  that  moment,  instructing  a  man  and  not 
about  flower-boxes  either. 

"Mr.  Lennox,  you  may  know  him,  by  sight  I  mean, 
will  be  coming  here  shortly.  Please  have  him  shown 
into  that  room  there." 

Mrs.  Austen  passed  on.  The  little  room  at  which 
she  had  glanced  that  afternoon  received  her — a  hos 
pitality  in  which  a  mirror  joined.  The  latter  wel 
comed  her  with  a  glimpse  of  herself.  It  was  like 
meeting  an  old  friend.  But  no;  a  friend  certainly, 
yet  not  an  old  one.  Age  had  not  touched  this  lady, 
not  impudently  at  least,  though  where  it  may  have 
had  the  impertinence  to  lay  a  finger,  art  had  applied 
another,  a  moving  finger  that  had  written  a  parody  of 
youth  on  her  face  which  was  then  turning  to  some  one 
behind  her  whom  the  mirror  disclosed. 

In  turning,  she  smiled. 

"It  is  so  good  of  you,  Mr.  Lennox,  to  look  in  on 
me.  The  door-man  told  you  about  Margaret,  did  he 
not  ?  No  ?  How  careless  of  him.  The  dear  child  has 
a  headache  and  has  gone  to  bed/' 

"Has  she?"  said  Lennox.  He  found  but  that.  But 
at  least  he  understood  why  Margaret  had  not  come  to 
his  rooms.  The  headache  had  prevented  her. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  59 

"It  is  nothing."  Mrs.  Austen  was  telling  him.  "To 
morrow  she  will  be  herself  again.  Nice  weather  we 
are  having." 

"Very,"  Lennox  answered. 

As  he  would  have  said  the  same  thing  if  Mrs. 
Austen  had  declared  that  the  weather  was  beastly, 
the  reply  did  not  matter.  It  did  not  matter  to  her ;  it 
did  not  matter  to  him.  She  was  thinking  of  some 
thing  else  and  he  was  also.  He  was  thinking  of  Mar 
garet,  wondering  whether  he  might  not  go  to  her. 
Were  it  not  for  the  strait- jacket  that  conventionality 
is  and  which  pinions  the  sturdiest,  he  would  have 
gone.  He  was  a  little  afraid  of  Mrs.  Austen,  as  an 
intelligent  man  sometimes  is  afraid  of  an  imbecile  wo 
man.  But  his  fear  of  her  fainted  beside  the  idea  that 
if,  disregarding  the  bagatelles  of  the  door,  he  made 
his  way  to  Margaret,  she  herself  might  not  like  it. 
That  alone  restrained  him.  Afterward  he  wished  he 
had  let  nothing  prevent  him.  Afterward  he  regretted 
it.  It  is  the  misery  of  life — and  sometimes  its  re 
ward — that  regret  should  be  futile. 

But,  at  the  moment,  grim  and  virile,  a  hat  in  one 
hand,  a  stick  in  the  other,  his  white  tie  just  showing 
between  the  lapels  of  his  overcoat,  already  he  was 
consoling  himself.  He  had  not  seen  Margaret  in  the 
afternoon,  and  he  was  not  to  see  her  this  evening.  No 
matter.  The  morrow  would  repay — that  morrow 
which  is  falser  than  the  former  day. 

Pleasantly  at  him  and  at  his  thoughts,  Mrs.  Austen 
played  the  flute.  "Won't  you  sit  down?"  In  speak 
ing,  she  sank  on  a  sofa  which  she  occupied  amply. 

Lennox,  shifting  his  stick,  took  a  chair.  Later,  in 
one  of  those  evil  moods  that  come  to  the  best,  as  well 
as  to  the  worst,  he  wished  he  had  brained  her  with  it. 


60  THE    PALISER   CASE 

With  the  magic  flute,  Mrs.  Austen  continued :  "To 
morrow  is  Sunday,  is  it  not?  You  must  be  sure  to 
come.  Dear  me !  I  can  remember  when  everybody 
went  to  church  on  Sunday  and  then  walked  up  and 
down  Fifth  Avenue.  Fifth  Avenue  had  trees  then 
instead  of  shops  and  on  the  trees  were  such  funny 
little  worms.  They  used  to  hang  down  and  crawl  on 
you.  The  houses,  too,  were  so  nice.  They  all  had 
piazzas  and  on  the  piazzas  were  honeysuckles.  But  I 
fear  I  am  boasting.  I  don't  really  remember  all  that 
It  was  my  father  who  told  me.  Those  must  have  been 
the  good  old  days !" 

Lennox  again  shifted  his  stick.  "To-day  I  had 
hoped  that  you  would  look  in  on  me." 

The  flute  caressed  the  strain.  "Yes.  It  was  too 
bad !  We  had  quite  counted  on  it.  Bachelor  quarters 
must  be  so  exciting. " 

"Well,  not  mine  at  any  rate.  They  are  rather 
dark." 

"But  that  must  make  them  all  the  more  exciting! 
Blindman's  buff !  Hide  and  go  seek !  What  fun  you 
must  have  with  your  friends  romping  about !" 

"My  friends  are  too  busy  for  that.  Though  to 
day " 

"Yes?" 

Lennox  hesitated.  He  knew  that  this  woman  took 
no  interest  in  him  whatever,  but  he  had  intended  to 
tell  Margaret  about  Cassy. 

Pleasantly  Mrs.   Austen  prodded  him.     "Yes?" 

"Nothing  of  any  moment.  This  afternoon,  Miss 
Cara,  the  girl  who  sang  last  night,  came  to  see  me. 
You  may  remember  I  told  you  I  knew  her  father." 

"It  seems  to  me  I  do." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  61 

"Things  have  not  gone  well  there  and  I  advanced 
her  a  trifle  for  him.'* 

Mrs.  Austen  unfurled  her  fan.  It  was  all  Honest 
Injun.  She  had  not  a  doubt  of  it  and  never  had.  But 
if  she  had  thought  it  a  Sioux  and  Comanche  story,  it 
would  have  been  the  same  to  her. 

"I  am  sorry  you  did  not  meet  her,"  Lennox  con 
tinued.  "You  might  have  lent  her  a  hand." 

"Professionally,  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 

"I  might  have  her  sing  here,"  replied  Mrs.  Austen, 
who  would  have  seen  Cassy  hanged  first. 

Lennox  considered  the  picture:  Mrs.  Austen  in 
the  role  of  shepherdess,  herding  for  Cassy's  benefit  the 
flock  of  sheep  that  society  is.  But  the  picture  did  not 
detain  him.  He  stood  up. 

"That  would  be  very  good  of  you.  Please  tell 
Margaret  I  am  sorry  she  has  a  headache  and  that  I 
will  look  in  on  her  to-morrow." 

No  you  won't,  thought  Mrs.  Austen,  who  said: 
"Yes,  do." 

In  a  moment,  when  he  had  gone,  she  looked  again 
in  the  mirror.  It  showed  her  a  woman  who  would 
not  steal,  unless  she  could  do  so  undetectably ;  a  wo 
man  who  would  not  forge,  because  she  did  not  know 
how.  Crimes  ridiculous  or  merely  terrific  she  was 
too  shrewd  to  commit.  But  there  are  crimes  that  the 
law  cannot  reach.  There  are  cards,  too,  that  fate  may 
deal. 

After  looking  at  the  woman,  she  looked  at  the  cards. 
They  were  dreamlike.  Even  so,  they  needed  stacking. 
Mrs.  Austen  arranged  them  carefully,  ran  them  up 
her  sleeve  and  floated  to  the  room  where  Margaret 
waited. 


62  THE   PALISER   CASE 

As  she  entered,  Margaret  turned  to  her.  Her  face 
had  that  disquieting  loveliness  which  Spanish  art  gave 
to  the  Madonna,  the  loveliness  of  flesh  eclipsed  cer 
tainly  by  the  loveliness  of  the  soul,  but  still  flesh,  still 
lovely. 

At  sight  of  it  Mrs.  Austen  experienced  the  admira 
tion  tinctured  with  the  vitriol  of  jealousy  that  some 
mothers  inject.  Mrs.  Austen  had  been  a  belle  in  the 
nights  when  there  were  belles  but  her  belledom,  this 
girl,  who  was  not  a  belle,  outshone.  Yet  the  glow  of 
it  while  necessarily  physical  had  in  it  that  which  was 
moral.  Unfortunately  the  radiance  of  moral  beauty 
only  those  who  are  morally  beautiful  can  perceive. 
Mrs.  Austen  was  blind  to  it.  It  was  her  daughter's 
physical  beauty  that  she  always  saw  and  which,  though 
she  was  jealous  of  it,  had,  she  knew,  a  value,  pre 
cisely  as  beauty  had  a  value  in  Circassia  where,  before 
the  war,  it  fetched  as  much  as  a  hundred  Turkish 
pounds.  In  New  York,  where  amateurs  are  keener 
and  beauty  is  more  rare,  it  may  run  into  millions. 

Commercially  conscious  of  that,  Mrs.  Austen  felt 
for  the  cards  and  carelessly  produced  one. 

"Do  you  know,  I  believe  we  are  to  have  a  shower. 
[Your  young  man  got  off  just  in  time." 

Margaret,  who  had  glanced  at  the  prostrate  nymph, 
looked  at  her  upright  mother.  "Do  you  mean  that 
Keith  has  come — and  gone?" 

Mrs.  Austen  sat  down  and  extracted  another  card. 
"My  dear,  when  I  went  below  he  was  coming  in. 
We " 

Margaret,  with  her  usual  directness,  interrupted. 
"But  he  is  coming  back?" 

"That  depends  on  you." 

"On  me?     How?    What  do  you  mean?" 


THE    PALISER    CASE  63 

"That  you  must  do  as  you  like,  of  course.  But  if 
you  elect  to  see  him,  for  goodness'  sake  don't  refer 
to  it." 

"Refer  to  it!"  Margaret  exclaimed.  "Refer  to 
what?" 

"The  vestal  whom  we  saw  this  afternoon." 

"I  don't  understand." 

Indulgently  Mrs.  Austen  motioned.  "It  is  hardly 
proper  that  you  should." 

Margaret  winced  and  coloured.  "Your  insinuation 
is  horrible." 

Cheerfully  Mrs.  Austen  smiled.  Margaret's  start, 
her  heightened  colour,  her  visible  annoyance,  these 
things  comforted  her.  A  grandee  of  Spain  warmed 
his  hands  at  the  auto-da-fe.  There  are  people  just 
like  him.  There  are  people  that  take  comfort  in  an 
other's  distress.  Mrs.  Austen  did  not  know  that  she 
resembled  them.  She  had  nothing  but  Margaret's 
welfare  in  view.  Nothing  but  that  and  her  own.  Her 
own  though  came  first. 

She  raised  the  fan.  "My  dear,  you  misjudge  me. 
I  always  said  that  he  is  a  good  young  man  and  I  stick 
to  it.  He  is  good,  far  too  good,  too  good  to  be  true." 
With  that,  lowering  the  fan,  she  produced  a  trump. 
"Downstairs,  a  moment  ago,  he  told  me  so." 

Margaret  gasped.     "He  told  you — he  told  you " 

"Precisely.     That  is  just  what  he  did  tell  me." 

Margaret  straightened.     "I  don't  believe  it." 

Mrs.  Austen  waved  at  her.  "Oh,  I  don't  mean 
that  he  has  deceived  you.  He  has  done  nothing  of 
the  kind.  It  is  you  who  have  deceived  yourself.  That 
was  to  be  expected.  At  your  age  I  deceived  myself 
quite  as  thoroughly.  I  thought  your  father  a  con 
quering  hero  and  he  was  merely  a  bore.  But  he 


64  THE    PALISER    CASE 

pointed  a  moral,  though  he  adorned  no  tale.  He  mar 
ried  to  settle  down.  That  is  this  young  man's  idea 
and  I  must  give  him  credit  for  the  fact  that  while  he 
has  not  deceived  you,  he  did  deceive  me.  I  thought 
him  a  tedious  person;  whereas,  not  a  bit  of  it.  He  is 
exceedingly  lively.  If  he  keeps  it  up,  his  wife  will 
be  blessed  among  women.  But  that  is  just  it.  He 
won't  keep  it  up.  He  swore  he  would  not  and  I  be 
lieve  him.  He  has  turned  over  a  new  leaf.  I  can't 
cry  over  it,  but  it  is  really  too  bad." 

Margaret,  who  had  straightened,  stiffened.  "If  I 
believed  a  word  of  what  you  tell  me,  I  would  forgive 
him  entirely." 

Mrs.  Austen,  unprepared  for  that,  leaned  forward. 
"My  dear,  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  sensible." 

"I  would  forgive  entirely,"  Margaret  continued. 
"But  I  would  never  see  him  again." 
'  How  good  that  tasted!  Mrs.  Austen  swallowed  it 
contentedly.  "Of  course  you  will  see  him.  You  are 
not  going  blind,  I  suppose.  But  when  you  do  see  him, 
it  will  be  only  decent  of  you  to  ignore  the  matter 
which  is  not  a  fit  subject  for  you  to  discuss." 

Margaret,  who  had  straightened  and  stiffened,  now 
was  rigid.  "I  certainly  shall  ignore  it.  It  is  not  worth 
talking  about." 

Mrs.  Austen  leaned  back.  "Ah,  my  dear,  how  right 
you  are.  He  could  not  tell  you  that  he  had  loved 
wisely,  it  would  not  be  very  flattering.  He  could  not 
say  he  had  loved  too  well,  for  that  would  be  embar 
rassing.  What  a  pretty  frock  you  have  on.  Did 
Marguerite  make  it?  Of  course  he  could  not.  It 
would  not  be  nice  at  all.  But  to  me  he  made  a  soiled* 
breast  of  it.  Don't  you  think  the  skirt  a  bit  too  long? 
Stand  up  a  minute." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  65 

Margaret  coloured  again.  She  coloured  with  a 
flush  that  put  two  red  spots  on  her.  She  did  not  be 
lieve  it.  She  could  not  and  would  not.  Yet  credence, 
like  the  wind,  bloweth  where  it  listeth. 

Mrs,  Austen,  noting  the  spots,  knew  that  the  card 
had  been  well  played  and  leisurely  selected  another. 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  way  you  are  sitting.  Yes,  alto 
gether  it  is  quite  ducky.  I  really  must  go  to  Mar 
guerite  on  Monday.  Don't  let  me  forget  about  it  or 
the  dentist  either.  I  shall  have  my  hands  full  and  my 
mouth  also.  The  proper  caper,  too,  apparently.  That 
little  dollymop,  whom  we  saw  this  afternoon,  had  her 
hands  full.  Did  you  notice  the  roll  of  bills  that  she 
was  counting?  Such  an  enjoyable  occupation!  But 
it  won't  last.  You  need  not  worry  on  that  score.  He 
had  been  paying  her  off.  He  assured  me  of  that  and 
so  unnecessarily.  Why,  I  saw  the  whole  thing  at  a 
glance.  Anybody  but  you  would  have  seen  it  too. 
But  you  are  so  theosophically  nearsighted.  It  was  for 
that  reason  I  took  you  away.  Now,  though,  he  is 
going  to  begin  on  a  clean  slate.  Those  were  his  very 
words,  and  you,  I  suppose,  are  the  clean  slate.  He 
has  such  original  expressions,  hasn't  he?  But  there! 
I  forgot.  He  did  not  mean  me  to  tell  you.  In  fact,  he 
begged  me  not  to." 

From  Margaret's  face  the  flush  retreating  left  it 
white  with  that  whiteness  which  dismay  creates.  A 
bucket  of  mud  had  drenched  her.  It  did  more,  it 
dazed  her.  The  idea  that  the  bucket  was  imaginary, 
the  mud  non-existent,  that  every  word  she  had  heard 
was  a  lie,  did  not  occur  to  this  girl  who,  if  a  Psyche, 
was  not  psychic.  In  her  heart  was  the  mud;  in  her 
mother's  hand  was  the  bucket.  But  the  mire  itself, 
he  had  put  there.  The  evidence  of  her  own  eyes  she 


66  THE    PALISER   CASE 

might  have  questioned.  But  he  had  admitted  it  and 
the  fact  that  he  had  induced  in  her  the  purely  animal 
feeling  to  get  away,  to  be  alone  and  to  suffer  unseen. 

She  left  the  room,  went  to  her  own,  closed  the  door 
and  at  a  prie-Dieu  fell  on  her  knees,  not  to  pray — she 
knew  that  the  Lords  of  Karma  are  not  to  be  pro 
pitiated  or  coerced — but  in  humiliation. 

In  humiliation  there  may  be  self-pity  and  that  is 
always  degrading.  With  uncertain  hands  she  tried 
to  transform  that  pity  into  sorrow,  not  for  herself, 
but  for  him.  The  burnt  offering  seared  her.  In  the 
secret  chambers  of  her  being  her  young  soul  tripped 
and  fell.  For  support  she  clutched  at  her  creed.  Or 
dinarily  it  would  have  sustained  her.  Ordinarily  it 
would  have  told  her  that  her  suffering  was  the  penalty 
for  suffering  which  she  had  caused,  a  penalty  that  the 
gods  of  the  doors  that  close  behind  our  birth  were 
measuring  to  her.  Ordinarily  she  would  have  realised 
that  in  some  anterior,  enigmatic  and  forgotten  life, 
she,  too,  had  debased  herself  and  that  this  cross  was 
the  punishment  for  that  debasement.  Ordinarily  the 
creed  would  have  sustained  her.  But  as  she  clutched 
at  it,  it  receded.  Only  the  cross  remained  and  that 
was  too  heavy. 

In  the  drawing-room  an  indifferent  nymph  pointed 
a  finger  at  hours,  all  of  which  wound  and  of  which  the 
last  one  kills. 

In  that  room  Mrs.  Austen  was  writing  a  note.  Ad 
dressed  to  Montagu  Paliser,  jr.,  esqre.,  it  asked  him 
to  dinner. 


T  N  the  subway,  the  following  evening,  Cassy  saw  a 
*•  man  eyeing  her.  She  turned  and  saw  another  man 
who  also  was  eyeing  her.  On  the  seat  opposite  two 
women  were  discussing  her  clothes. 

The  clothes,  her  own  manufacture,  were  not  of  the 
fashion,  not  behind  it,  or  ahead  of  it,  but  above  it.  A 
mode,  or  a  mood  of  her  own,  they  consisted  in  a  blue 
silk  smock  and  a  yellow  cloth  skirt.  On  the  sleeves 
and  about  the  neck  of  the  smock  there  was  also  yel 
low,  touches  of  it,  with  which  the  skirt  married. 
Therewith  she  was  hatless,  rebellious  and  handsome. 

Accustomed  to  the  inquisitiveness  of  appraising 
eyes,  she  ignored  the  women  as,  already,  she  had  ig 
nored  the  men.  With  obliterating  unconcern,  she  re 
duced  them  to  the  fluidity  of  the  inchoate.  Other 
matters  occupied  her,  and,  primarily,  a  trick,  an  ex 
tremely  shabby  one,  from  which  she  had  not  yet  re 
covered. 

The  day  before,  after  paying  the  butcher,  the  baker, 
and  the  punctual  and  pertinacious  agent,  she  had  scaled 
the  walk-up  where  she  found  her  father  with  the  vio 
lin,  on  which,  an  hour  earlier,  Lennox  had  loaned  her 
the  money. 

The  spectacle  flabbergasted  her.  Then,  realising 
what  Lennox  had  done,  his  iniquity  struck  her  as 
hateful.  At  once,  in  an  effort  to  account,  however 
imaginatively,  for  the  apparent  sorcery  of  it  all,  she 

67 


68  THE   PALISER   CASE 

tried  to  invent  a  fairy-tale.  But  the  tale  would  not 
come.  Nor  was  it  needed.  Her  father  dispensed  with 
any.  Impatient  of  detail,  as  the  artist  usually  is,  he 
required  none.  The  extraordinary  perspicacity  of  the 
police  who  had  nailed  and  returned  the  violin  in- 
stanter,  this  wizardry  that  would  have  thrown  any 
one  else  into  stupors  of  bewilderment,  interested  him 
not  at  all.  He  had  the  violin.  That  sufficed.  The 
rest  did  not  matter. 

It  mattered  though  and  monumentally  to  Cassy.  To 
owe  the  butcher,  the  baker,  the  candlestickmaker,  and 
to  have  them  look  slantingly  at  you,  that  was  disgust 
ing.  But  to  be  beholden  for  a  gift,  which  you  had 
refused  to  accept,  and  which  then,  behind  your  back, 
was  dumped  in  on  you,  that  was  degrading.  Conse 
quently,  while  conjecturing  new  versions  of  Perrault, 
versions  which  it  relieved  her  to  find  were  not  wanted, 
she  gnashed  her  milk-white  teeth  at  Lennox,  felt  that 
she  hated  him,  yet  felt,  too,  and  the  feeling  was  mad 
dening,  that  the  hatred  was  very  tender. 

All  this  was  irritating  enough  and  the  Tamburini 
had  contrived  to  add  to  the  irritation.  It  had  been 
arranged  that  the  fallen  star  was  to  come  to  the 
walk-up  and  accompany  Cassy  to  the  Splendor.  In 
stead  of  which,  at  the  last  moment,  the  ex-diva  had 
telephoned  that  she  would  join  her  at  the  hotel,  and 
Cassy  foresaw  a  tedious  sitting  about  in  the  lobby,  for 
Ma  Tamby  was  always  late.  But  when  have  misfor 
tunes  come  singly?  Cassy  foresaw,  too,  that  the 
tedium  would  not  be  attenuated  by  Paliser's  conver 
sation. 

It  was  not  for  that,  or  for  him,  that  she  was  then 
in  the  subway,  but  for  dinner.  Young,  healthy  and 
consequently  carnal,  though  not  otherwise  carnal  than 


THE    PALISER   CASE  69 

hunger  can  make  you,  she  liked  food,  on  condition 
that  she  had  not  prepared  it,  and — in  particular,  and 
why  not? — she  liked  the  savorously  truffled  menus 
that  walk-ups  lack.  She  had  another  reason  for  being 
in  the  subway,  one  that  Ma  Tamby  had  lodged,  like  a 
flea,  in  her  ear. 

But  now,  near  the  heart  of  Manhattan,  the  train 
had  stopped.  Cassy  got  out,  looked  at  her  white  gloves, 
wondered  if  they  smelled  of  benzine,  decided  that  they 
did,  took  them  off  and  went  on  to  the  Splendor  where 
Paliser  was  waiting. 

Other  people  appeared  to  be  similarly  occupied.  In 
the  high,  wide  hall  were  groups  of  careful  men  and 
careless  women,  the  latter  very  scrumptious  in  their 
imported  frocks.  The  sight  of  these  Parisianisms 
abashed  Cassy  no  more  than  her  appearance  abashed 
Paliser.  Etiquette,  Formality,  the  Proper  Thing,  the 
great  inane  gods  of  the  ante-bellum  heavens,  he  had 
never  acknowledged  and  now,  though  locally  their 
altars  remained  and  their  worship  persisted,  he  knew 
they  were  forever  dead,  blown  into  the  dust-bin  of 
the  things  that  were,  tossed  there  in  derision  by  that 
atheist,  the  War. 

The  careless  women  looked  at  Cassy  and  carefully 
looked  away.  The  careful  men  looked  at  her  and  care 
lessly  looked  again.  In  the  severity  of  the  wide,  high 
hall,  the  girl  with  her  rebellious  beauty  and  harlequin 
gown,  struck  a  note  which  it  lacked,  struck  two  of 
them,  the  go-and-be-hanged-to-you  and  originality. 

In  evening  clothes  that  said  Savile  Row,  Paliser  ap 
proached.  "You  are  punctual  as  a  comet  and  equally 
luminous.'* 

Cassy,  ignoring  the  remark,  ignoring,  too,  the  hand 


70  THE    PALISER    CASE 

that  accompanied  it,  cut  him  short.  "Haven't  seen 
Madame  Tamburini,  have  you?" 

Paliser's  hair  had  the  effect  of  a  mirror.  He 
smoothed  the  back  of  it.  The  ex-diva  he  had  cer 
tainly  seen  and  not  later  than  just  before  she  tele 
phoned  to  Cassy.  But  it  is  injudicious,  and  also  tire 
some,  to  tell  everything.  With  the  wave  of  a  cheque, 
the  complicity  of  the  former  first-lady  had  been  as 
sured,  and  assured  moreover  without  a  qualm  on  her 
part.  Ma  Tamby  did  not  know  what  it  is  to  have  a 
qualm — which  she  could  not  have  spelled  if  she  had 
known.  She  was  differently  and  superiorly  educated. 
In  the  university  that  life  is,  she  had  acquired  en 
cyclopedias  of  recondite  learning.  She  knew  that  ice 
is  not  all  that  it  is  cracked  up  to  be :  that  a  finger 
in  the  pie  is  better  than  two  in  the  fire,  and  that  angels 
have  been  observed  elsewhere  than  at  Mons — learning 
which,  as  you  may  see,  is  surprising. 

Over  the  ham  and  eggs  of  an  earlier  evening,  the 
syllables  of  Paliser's  name  had  awakened  echoes  of 
old  Academy  nights  and  Mapleson's  "grand  revivals" 
of  the  Trovatore,  echoes  thin  and  quavering,  yet  still 
repeating  hymns  in  glory  of  the  man's  angelic  papa. 
On  the  way  from  ham  and  eggs  to  Harlem,  she  had, 
in  consequence,  conjured,  for  Cassy 's  benefit,  with 
performing  fleas.  But  when,  on  this  afternoon,  M. 
P.  jr.,  had  come  and  waved  cheques  at  her,  she  had 
felt  that  her  worst  hopes  were  realised,  that  her  finger 
was  really  in  the  pie,  and  she  had  agreed  to  every 
thing,  which,  however,  for  the  moment,  was  nothing 
at  all,  merely  to  abandon  Cassy  that  evening;  merely 
also  to  collaborate  later  in  the  evocation  of  a  myth, 
and  meanwhile  to  keep  at  it  with  the  fleas. 

Now,  in  the  hall  of  the  Splendor,  as  Paliser  patted 


THE    PALISER    CASE  71 

the  back  of  his  head,  he  was  enjoying  Cassy's  open- 
air  appearance  that  needed  only  a  tennis-racket  to  be 
complete. 

Cassy  glanced  about.  She  had  a  penny  or  two  more 
than  her  carfare  and  yet,  if  she  had  owned  the  shop, 
she  could  not  have  appeared  more  at  ease  in  this  smart 
est  of  smart  inns,  a  part  of  which,  destiny,  in  its 
capriciousness,  was  to  offer  her. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "But  I  have  a  private  room 
somewhere.  She  can  find  her  way  there,  unless  you 
prefer  palms  and  an  orchestra." 

"I  do,"  said  Cassy,  to  whom  a  room  with  this  man 
said  only  boredom  and  who  liked  to  see  what  was 
going  on. 

Then  when,  presently,  they  were  seated  at  a  table,  to 
which  the  chastened  captain  of  the  ham-and-egg  night 
had  piloted  the  way,  Cassy  beheld  what  she  had  never 
beheld  before,  and  what  few  mortals  ever  do  behold, 
a  cradled  bottle  of  Clos  de  Vougeot.  But  to  her,  the 
royal  cru  was  very  much  like  the  private  room.  It 
said  nothing.  A  neighbouring  table  was  more  elo 
quent. 

Among  the  people  seated  there  was  an  imperial  wo 
man  with  an  imperial  manner,  whom  Cassy  instantly 
recognised.  She  was  prima  donna,  prima  donna 
assoluta,  and  though  Cassy  did  not  know  it — nor 
would  it  have  interested  her  if  she  had  known — disso- 
luta  also. 

To  be  in  her  shoes ! 

In  that  seven-leagued  dream,  she  forgot  Paliser, 
the  delinquent  Tamburini,  the  trick  that  Lennox  had 
played.  In  a  golden  gloom,  on  a  wide  stage,  to  a 
house  packed  to  the  roof,  Cassy  was  bowing.  Her 


72  THE    PALISER    CASE 

final  roulade  had  just  floated  on  and  beyond,  lost  now 
in  cyclonic  bravas. 

"It  was  the  Due  d'Aumale,"  Paliser  was  saying. 

"Eh?"    Abruptly  Cassy  awoke. 

"Or,  if  not,  some  other  chap  who,  recognising  it, 
ordered  his  regiment  to  halt  and  present  arms." 

"To  whom?" 

"To  the  vineyard  where  the  grape  in  that  bottle  was 
grown." 

Cassy  shook  out  a  napkin.  "You  talk  just  like  my 
janitress.  I  never  understand  a  word  she  says." 

But  now  a  waiter  was  bringing  delicacies  other 
than  those  obtainable  in  Harlem;  in  particular,  a  dish 
that  had  the  merit  of  pleasing  Cassy. 

"What  is  it?"  she  .asked. 

"Muskrat." 

"What!" 

"Muskrat  with  terrapin  for  a  pseudonym.  The 
pseudonym  shows  imagination.  Let  us  be  thankful 
for  that.  Gastronomy  is  bankrupt.  Formerly  it  was 
worshipped.  Formerly  gastronomy  was  a  goddess. 
To-day  the  sole  tributes  consist  in  bills-of-fare  that 
are  just  like  the  Sahara  minus  the  oases.  It  is  the 
oases  we  want  and  it  is  muskrat  we  get.  That  is  all 
wrong.  The  degree  of  culture  that  any  nation  may 
claim  is  shown  in  its  cookery  and  if  there  is  anything 
viler  than  what  we  get  here  it  must  be  served  in  Ber 
lin.  It  must  have  been  Solon  who  said:  'Tell  me 
what  you  eat  and  I  will  tell  you  who  you  are/  He 
added,  or  should  have,  that  animals  feed,  man  dines 
and,  when  permitted,  dines  devoutly.  There  are 
dishes,  as  there  are  wines,  to  which  one  should  rise 
and  bow.  But  hereabouts  it  is  only  by  special  dis 
pensation  that  one  gets  them.  In  a  hotel  such  as  this 
there  is  an  outward  show  of  reverence,  but  it  is  sheer 


THE    PALISER    CASE  73 

hypocrisy;  of  real  piety  there  is  none,  a  sham  attempt 
to  observe  the  sacred  rites  without  knowing  how.  I 
admit  I  don't  know  either.  From  me  the  divine  af 
flatus  has  been  withheld.  But  elsewhere  I  have  been 
conscious  of  the  presence.  Once  or  twice  I  was 
blessed.  Here,  though,  in  default  of  shrines  there 
should  be  chairs.  Harvard,  Yale,  Columbia,  should 
establish  a  few.  When  I  was  in  college  I  was  taught 
everything  that  it  is  easiest  to  forget.  If  the  youth 
of  the  land  were  instructed  in  gastronomy  we  would 
all  be  wiser  and  better.  Chairs  on  gastronomy,  that 
is  what  we  need!" 

Cassy  laughed.     "Why  not  tables?" 

Paliser  laughed  with  her.  The  laughter  was  a  bond. 
It  joined  them  however  tenuously.  It  was  what  he 
had  been  driving  at.  Accustomed  to  easy  successes, 
Cassy's  atmosphere,  with  its  flavour  of  standoffish- 
ness  and  indifference,  appealed  to  this  man,  who  had 
supped  on  the  facile  and  who  wanted  the  difficult. 
Cassy,  he  could  have  sworn,  would  supply  it  and,  if 
he  had,  he  would  have  sworn  very  truly. 

Meanwhile  the  muskrat  had  gone.  Dishes  less  false 
but  equally  fair  had  followed.  Now,  with  the  air  of 
a  conjurer,  the  waiter  just  showed  them  an  entremets 
which  he  hastened  to  serve.  It  was  a  soufflee. 

At  it,  Cassy,  just  showing  the  point  of  her  straw 
berry  tongue,  exclaimed  without  rancour :  "Ma  Tamby 
has  thrown  us  over." 

Paliser  lit  a  cigarette.  "She  may  be  singing  in  the 
private  room." 

Cassy  laughed  again.  "Yes.  'Una  voce  poco  fa!' 
That  would  be  just  the  thing — wouldn't  it? — to  sing1 
privately  in  private." 

Paliser  answered,  though  what,  she  did  not  hear. 
The  orchestra  drowned  it  and  for  a  moment  she  con- 


74  THE    PALISER    CASE 

sidered  him,  conscious  that  he  was  less  objectionable 
than  he  had  seemed,  yet  entirely  unconscious  that  such 
objection  as  she  had  experienced  was  due  to  his  ex 
treme  good-looks,  which  in  a  man  are  always  ob 
jectionable  to  a  woman  when  she  herself  is  handsome, 
for  they  make  him  resemble  her  and,  in  so  doing,  con 
stitute  an  encroachment  on  her  prerogatives,  which, 
in  itself,  is  an  affront. 

Cassy,  ignorant  of  the  psychology  of  it,  equally  un 
aware  that  familiarity  which  may  breed  contempt  can 
also  dissolve  dislike,  and  feeling  merely  a  lessening 
of  her  instinctive  hostility,  told  herself  that  he  was 
perhaps  not  as  cocky  as  he  looked  and  drank  of  the 
glass  before  her. 

The  Clos  de  Vougeot  which,  to  the  educated  palate, 
is  art,  literature  and  song  combined,  meant  nothing 
more  to  her  than  if  it  had  been  Medoc.  She  drank 
it  because  it  was  there  at  her  hand,  as  she  would 
have  drunk  water,  without  savouring  it,  without  any 
realisation  of  the  enormity  of  the  crime.  Yet  though 
it  meant  nothing,  nothing  at  least  of  which  she  was 
aware,  the  royal  cru  was  affecting  her.  It  modified 
and  mollified,  admonishing  her  that  this  man  was  an 
inoffensive  insect  who,  circumstances  favouring, 
might,  as  Ma  Tamby  when  inserting  the  flea  had  told 
her,  put  her  father  on  his  feet. 

In  just  what  the  favouring  circumstances  could  con 
sist,  the  fallen  star  had  not  bothered  to  indicate,  and 
she  had  not  bothered  because  they  were  too  obvious 
and  also  because  she  was  sure  that  Cassy  was  not  in 
sane. 

Paliser  abandoned  his  cigarette.  "If  you  like,  we 
might  look  in  at  the  Metropolitan.  I  believe  I  have  a 
box." 

Apart  from  down-stage  and  the  centre  of  it,  apart, 


THE   PALISER   CASE  75 

too,  from  the  flys  and  the  dressing-rooms,  Cassy's 
imagination  had  not  as  yet  conceived  anything  more 
beckoning  than  a  box  at  the  opera,  even  though,  as 
on  this  occasion,  the  opera  happened  to  be  a  concert. 

"Why,  yes.  Only "  Pausing,  she  looked  about. 

The  imperial  lady  had  gone. 

"Only  what?"  Paliser  very  needlessly  asked  for  he 
knew. 

"I  fear  I  am  a  bit  overdressed." 

"Not  for  Sunday.  The  house  will  be  full  and  no 
body  in  it.  Besides,  what  do  you  care?" 

Cassy  shrugged.  "Personally,  not  a  rap.  It  was 
of  you  I  was  thinking." 

Paliser,  who  had  been  signing  the  check  and  feeing 
the  waiter,  looked  at  her.  "I  did  not  know  that  you 
were  so  considerate." 

Cassy,  in  surprise  not  at  him,  but  at  herself,  laughed. 
"Nor  did  I." 

Paliser  stood  up  and  drew  back  her  chair.  "Be 
careful.  You  might  become  cynical.  It  is  in  think 
ing  of  others  that  cynicism  begins." 

The  platitude  slipped  from  him  absently.  He  had 
no  wish  for  the  concert,  no  wish  to  hear  Berlinese 
trulls  and  bubonic  bassi  bleat.  But,  for  the  tolerably 
delicate  enterprise  that  he  had  in  hand,  there  were 
the  preliminary  steps  which  could  only  be  hastened 
slowly  and  anything  slower  than  the  Metropolitan 
on  a  Sunday  night,  it  was  beyond  him  to  conjecture. 

But  though  on  that  evening  a  basso  did  bleat,  it 
may  be  that  he  was  not  bubonic.  Moreover  he  was 
followed  by  a  soprano  who,  whether  trullish  or  not, 
at  any  rate  was  not  Berlinese  and  whose  voice  had  the 
lusciousness  of  a  Hawaiian  pineapple.  But  the  selec 
tions,  which  were  derived  from  old  Italian  cupboards, 
displeased  Paliser,  who  called  them  painted  mush. 


76  THE    PALISER   CASE 

But  not  twice !  Cassy  turned  her  back  on  him.  The 
painted  mush  shook  stars  in  her  ears,  opened  vistas 
on  the  beyond.  Save  for  him  she  would  have  been 
quite  happy.  But  his  remark  annoyed  her.  It  caused 
her  to  revise  her  opinion.  Instead  of  an  inoffensive 
insect  he  was  an  offensive  fool.  None  the  less,  as  the 
concert  progressed,  she  revised  it  again.  On  enter 
ing  the  box  she  had  seen  his  name  on  the  door.  The 
memory  of  that,  filtering  through  the  tinted  polenta 
from  the  ancient  cupboards,  softened  her.  A  man  so 
gifted  could  express  all  the  imbecilities  he  liked.  Elle 
s'enfichait. 

As  a  result,  before  it -was  over,  in  lieu  of  her  back, 
she  gave  him  the  seduction  of  her  smile,  and,  later 
when,  in  his  car,  on  the  way  to  the  walk-up,  he  spoke 
of  future  dinners,  fresher  songs,  she  had  so  far  for 
gotten  the  painted  mush  insult,  that  momentarily  she 
foresaw  but  one  objection.  She  had  nothing  to  wear 
and  frankly,  with  entire  unconcern,  she  out  with  it. 

For  that  he  had  a  solution  which  he  kept  to  himself. 
The  promptly  obliterating  stare  with  which  she  would 
have  reduced  him  to  non-existence,  he  dodged  in  ad 
vance. 

Apparently  changing  the  subject,  he  said:  "You 
know — or  know  of — Mrs.  Beamish,  don't  you?" 

"Never  heard  of  her,"  said  Cassy,  entirely  unaware 
that  no  one  else  ever  had  either. 

"She  was  at  the  Bazaar  the  other  night  and  admired 
your  singing." 

"Very  good  of  her  I  am  sure,"  replied  Cassy,  who,  a 
born  anarchist  and  by  the  same  token  a  born  autocrat, 
loathed  condescension. 

Paliser  corrected  it.  "No,  not  good — appreciative. 
She  wants  you  to  sing  at  her  house.  If  you  are  will* 


THE    PALISER    CASE  77 

ing,  could  she  arrange  about  it  through  Madame  Tam- 
burini?" 

"If  she  tried  very  hard,  I  suppose  she  might," 
Cassy,  with  the  same  loftiness,  answered. 

But  the  loftiness  was  as  unreal  as  Mrs.  Beamish. 
Inwardly  she  jubilated,  wondering  how  much  she 
would  get.  A  hundred  ?  In  that  case  she  could  repay 
Lennox  at  once.  At  the  thought  of  it,  again  she  re 
vised  her  opinion.  Paliser  was  young  and  in  her 
judgment  all  young  men  were  insects.  On  the  other 
hand  he  was  serviceable.  Moreover,  though  he  looked 
cocky,  he  did  not  presume.  He  talked  rot,  but  he 
did  not  argue.  Then,  too,  his  car  was  a  relief. 

But  now  the  car,  after  bolting  through  the  Park 
and  flying  along  the  Riverside,  had  swerved.  It  was 
mounting  the  upper  reaches  of  the  longest  highway 
on  the  planet.  There  it  swerved  again.  From  Broad 
way  it  barked  loudly  into  a  side-street  where  easily, 
with  a  soapy  slide,  it  stopped. 

Paliser  got  out,  preceded  Cassy  to  the  steps  of  the 
walk-up  and  smiled  in  her  face.  "When?" 

Cassy,  the  revised  opinion  of  him  about  her,  gave 
him  her  hand.  "Ask  the  telephone." 

The  hall  took  her.  She  was  scaling  the  stairs.  On 
the  way  Mrs.  Beamish  accompanied  her.  She  wished 
she  could  tell  her  father.  Yet,  if  she  told  him,  how 
could  she  account  for  what  she  did  with  the  money? 
And  would  it  be  a  hundred?  Perhaps  fifty,  perhaps 
less. 

But  Paliser  saw  to  it  that  Mrs.  Beamish  behaved 
properly.  On  the  morrow  Ma  Tamby  dumped  in 
Cassy's  astonished  lap  two  hundred  and  fifty — less 
ten  per  cent.,  business  is  business — for  samples  of  the 
bel  canto  which  Mrs.  Beamish  was  not  to  hear,  and 
for  an  excellent  reason,  there  was  no  such  person. 


XI 


MRS.  AUSTEN  looked  at  Lennox,  who  had  been 
looking  at  her,  but  who  was  then  looking  at 
the  rug,  in  the  border  of  which  were  arabesques.  He 
did  not  see  them.  The  rug  was  not  there.  The  room 
itself  had  disappeared.  The  nymph,  the  dial,  the  fur 
niture,  the  decorations  and  costly  futilities  with  which 
the  room  was  cluttered,  all  these  had  gone.  Mrs. 
Austen  had  ceased  to  be.  In  that  pleasant  room,  in 
the  presence  of  this  agreeable  woman,  Lennox  was 
absolutely  alone,  as,  in  any  great  crisis  of  the  emo 
tions,  we  all  are. 

Of  one  thing  he  was  conscious.  He  was  suffering 
atrociously.  Pain  blanketed  him.  But  though  the 
blanket  had  the  poignancy  of  thin  knives,  he  kept 
telling  himself  that  it  was  all  unreal. 

He  raised  his  eyes.  During  the  second  in  which 
they  had  been  lowered,  a  second  that  had  been  an 
eternity  in  hell,  his  expression  had  not  altered.  He 
was  taking  it,  apparently  at  least,  unmoved. 

Mrs.  Austen,  who  was  looking  at  him,  saw  it  and 
thought:  He  is  a  gentleman.  The  reflection  en 
couraged  her  and  she  sighed  and  said:  "Believe  me, 
I  am  sorry." 

Lennox  did  not  believe  her,  but  he  let  it  go.  What 
he  did  believe  was  that  Margaret  could  not  see  him. 
But  whether  she  would,  if  she  could,  was  another 
matter.  On  Saturday  he  had  expected  her  at  his 

78 


THE    PALISER   CASE  79 

rooms.  She  had  not  come.  In  the  evening  he  had 
called.  She  had  a  headache.  On  the  following  day 
he  had  returned.  She  was  not  feeling  well.  Now 
on  this  third  day,  Mrs.  Austen,  who  on  the  two  pre 
vious  occasions  had  received  him,  once  more  so  far 
condescended,  yet  on  this  occasion  to  tell  him  that 
he  was  free,  that  it  was  Margaret's  wish,  that  the 
engagement  was  ended. 

In  so  telling  him,  Mrs.  Austen  told,  for  a  wonder, 
the  truth,  though  as  will  sometimes  happen  even  to 
the  best  of  us,  not  all  the  truth.  It  were  extravagant 
to  have  expected  it  of  her.  But  she  told  all  that  she 
thought  good  for  him;  more  exactly  good  for  Mar 
garet;  more  precisely  for  herself. 

It  was  then  that  the  pleasant  room  with  its  clutter 
of  costly  futilities  disappeared  and  this  agreeable  wom 
an  ceased  to  be.  The  avalanche  of  the  modulated 
announcement  sent  Lennox  reeling  not  merely  out 
of  the  room,  but  out  of  the  world,  deeply  into  hell. 

It  was  then,  too,  that  with  a  sigh,  modulated  also, 
Mrs.  Austen  had  added :  "Believe  me,  I  am  sorry." 

Lennox  looked  at  her.  "You  say  that  Margaret 
wants  our  engagement  broken.  Why?" 

"She  has  changed  her  mind." 

"So  I  infer.     But  why?" 

"Because  she  is  a  woman." 

"But  not  the  ordinary  woman.  It  is  the  ordinary 
woman  who  changes  her  mind — when  she  has  one  to 
change.  Margaret  is  not  of  that  kind.  Margaret  is 
not  the  kind  to  promise  herself  to  a  man  and  then 
throw  him  over.  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  speak 
heatedly,  but  I  do  not  believe  it." 

With  frosty  indulgence  Mrs.  Austen  reassured 
him.  "You  do  not  believe  that  I  will  forgive  you? 
But,  really,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive.  Though, 


8o  THE    PALISER   CASE 

whether  Margaret  is  ordinary  or  superior,  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  Dear  me,  no.  Women  are  not 
what  they  were.  One  often  hears  that  and  often, 
too,  one  hears  people  wondering  why.  That  always 
amuses  me.  The  reason  is  so  simple,  isn't  it  ?  Wom 
en  are  not  what  they  were  because  they  used  to  be 
girls.  Before  that  they  were  children.  At  one  time 
they  were  babes.  Naturally  they  change.  They  can't 
help  it.  It  must  be  a  general  law.  Or  at  least  one 
may  suppose  so.  One  may  suppose,  too,  that,  in 
changing,  they  develop  and  in  developing  acquire  the 
extraordinary  ability  to  think  things  over.  That  is 
just  what  Margaret  had  done.  It  is  no  reflection  on 
you,  Mr.  Lennox,  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  you 
thought  so.  I  am  sure  Margaret  has  the  highest  es 
teem  for  you.  I  know  that  I  have." 

Mrs.  Austen,  smiling  frostily  as  she  lied,  thought : 
Now  why  doesn't  he  take  it  and  go?  I  hope  he  won't 
be  tedious. 

Lennox  too  had  his  thoughts.  She  is  trying  to 
swamp  me  in  words,  he  told  himself.  That  angered 
him  and  he  showed  it. 

"What  are  these  things?  When  I  last  saw  Mar 
garet  she  said  nothing  about  any  things.  There  was 
no  change  in  her  then.  I  would  stake  my  life  that  she 
had  no  idea  of  breaking  our  engagement.  There  must 
be  a  reason  for  it.  What  is  it?" 

Arrogantly  Mrs.  Austen  took  it  up.  "There  is  no 
reason  for  your  raising  your  voice,  at  any  rate.  As  for 
the  things,  they  ought  to  be  obvious.  In  addition  to 
habits  and  customs,  very  suitable  in  Wall  Street  no 
doubt,  but  not  otherwise  appealing,  Margaret  has 
found  you  a  bit  rough,  high-tempered,  domineering  for 
all  I  know  to  the  contrary,  and " 

That's  a  damned  lie,  thought  Lennox,  who  aggres- 


THE    PALISER    CASE  81 

sively  cut  in:  "Margaret  never  found  me  anything 
of  the  kind.  What  is  more  I  will  thank  you  to  under 
stand  that  I  will  not  accept  this  dismissal — if  it  be  one 
— from  you." 

There  is  a  show  of  decency  that  is  due  to  any 
woman.  But  the  veneer  of  civilisation  is  very  thin. 
From  beneath  it,  the  potential  troglodyte,  that  lurks  in 
us  all,  is  ready  enough  to  erupt.  Ready  and  eager 
then,  he  was  visible  in  Lennox'  menacing  eyes,  mani 
fest  in  his  threatening  voice. 

Mrs.  Austen  saw  the  brute,  saw  rather  that  little,  if 
anything,  restrained  Lennox  from  jumping  up,  bang 
ing  about,  hunting  for  Margaret's  room,  entering  there 
and  catechising  her  violently.  Margaret  was  ill  but 
never  too  ill  to  tell  the  truth.  Once  he  learned  that, 
there  was  the  fat  in  the  fire. 

She  had  no  time  to  lose.  From  the  wardrobe  of  the 
actress  that  she  was,  she  snatched  at  an  oleaginous 
mask  and  with  the  mucilage  of  it  smiled  at  him. 

"Why,  of  course  not.  Not  for  a  moment  would  I 
have  you  accept  it  from  me.  I  never  dreamed  of  such 
a  thing.  It  wouldn't  be  right.  Margaret  shall  tell 
you  herself.  She  would  be  here  now,  but  the  poor 
child  had  such  a  wretched  night.  You  never  had  neu 
ralgia,  have  you?  At  her  age  I  was  a  martyr  to  it. 
I  remember  I  took  something  that  ended  in  'ine.' 
Yesterday  I  suggested  it  but  the  doctor  would  not  hear 
of  it.  Said  she  needed  building  up.  Spoke  of  her  just 
as  though  she  were  a  town  out  West ;  so  unsympathetic 
I  thought  him,  but  of  course  I  did  not  say  so.  He 
might  have  charged  extra  and  he  is  expensive  enough 
as  it  is,  and  always  so  ready  to  talk  about  his  own  af 
fairs,  just  like  my  dentist.  I  told  him  once — the 
dentist  I  mean — that  I  really  could  not  afford  to  pay 
him  thirty  dollars  an  hour  to  hear  about  his  wife  and  I 


82  THE    PALISER    CASE 

don't  think  he  liked  it.  I  know  I  didn't  when  I  got  his 
bill.  But  where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes.  To-morrow  or  the 
next  day,  as  soon  as  Margaret  is  the  least  bit  better, 
you  will  be  sure  to  have  a  line  from  her  and  if  you 
do  not,  and  you  care  to,  you  must  certainly  look  in. 
For  you  must  always  regard  us  as  friends.  Me  at  any 
rate.  Won't  you,  Mr.  Lennox?" 

Moistening  her  lips,  mentally  she  continued :  Yes, 
count  on  that.  But  inwardly  she  relaxed.  Such  dan 
ger  as  there  may  have  been  had  gone.  Under  the 
dribble  of  the  mucilage  the  fire  in  his  eyes  had  flickered 
and  sunk.  He  was  too  glued  now  for  revolt.  So  she 
thought,  but  she  did  not  know  him. 

During  the  sticky  flow  of  her  words,  he  knew  she 
was  trying  to  gammon  him.  But  he  knew  quite  as  well 
that  Margaret  would  make  no  such  attempt,  and  he 
knew  it  for  no  other  reason  than  because  he  knew  she 
was  incapable  of  it.  Incidentally  he  determined  what 
he  would  do.  Having  determined  it,  he  stood  up. 

"Very  good.  I  shall  expect  to  hear  from  Margaret 
to-morrow.  If  I  do  not  hear  I  will  come,  and  when 
I  come " 

Lennox  paused  and  compressed  his  lips.  The  com 
pression  finished  the  sentence.  If  come  he  did,  no 
power  of  hers,  or  of  any  one  else,  would  budge  him  an 
inch  until  he  saw  Margaret  and  had  it  out  with  her. 

"Good-evening,"  he  added  and  Mrs.  Austen  found 
herself  looking  at  his  retreating  back  which,  even  in  re 
treat,  was  a  menace. 

"Merciful  fathers!"  she  exclaimed,  and,  with  that 
sense  of  humour  which  is  the  saving  grace,  the  dear 
woman  put  her  hand  to  her  stays.  She  was  feeling 
for  her  heart.  She  had  none.  Or  any  appetite,  she 
presently  told  a  servant  who  came  to  say  that  dinner 
was  served. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  83 

She  misjudged  herself.  For  twenty-five  minutes,  in 
an  adjoining  room,  she  ate  steadily  and  uncomplain 
ingly.  She  had  bouillon,  skate  in  black  butter,  cutlets 
in  curl-papers,  sweetbread  and  cockscombs,  a  cold 
artichoke,  hot  almond  pudding,  an  apricot,  a  bit  of 
roquefort,  a  pint  of  claret,  a  thimble  of  benedictine  and 
not  a  twinge,  none  of  the  indigestion  of  square-dealing, 
none  of  gastritis  of  good  faith.  She  was  a  well-dressed 
ambition,  intent  on  her  food.  No  discomfort  there 
fore.  On  the  contrary.  Margaret  was  in  bed — safe 
there.  Fate  and  the  cook  were  kind. 

With  the  taste  of  the  liqueur  still  in  her  mouth,  she 
went  to  her  daughter  who  was  ill  with  one  of  those 
maladies  which,  being  primarily  psychical,  science  can 
not  treat.  Science  is  a  classification  of  human  igno 
rance.  It  has  remedies  for  the  flesh,  it  has  none  for  the 
soul.  The  remedies  exist,  but  they  are  dispensed  only 
by  the  great  apothecaries  that  time  and  philosophy  are. 

At  the  moment  neither  was  available.  Behind  Mar 
garet's  forehead  a  monster  crouched  and  crunched. 
That  was  nothing.  It  was  in  the  tender  places  of  her 
heart  that  the  girl  agonised  and  by  comparison  to  the 
torture  there,  the  monster  was  benign. 

Margaret  was  nineteen,  which  is  a  very  mature  age ; 
perhaps  the  most  mature,  since  all  girlhood  lies  behind 
it.  Beyond  are  the  pharmacopoeias  of  time  and,  for 
tune  favouring,  the  sofas  of  philosophy.  But  these 
sofas,  even  when  within  reach,  are  not  adapted  to 
everybody.  To  the  young,  they  are  detestable.  Re- 
posefully  they  admonish  that  nothing  is  important. 
They  whisper  patience  to  the  impatient.  To  hope, 
they  say,  "Be  still" ;  to  desire,  "Be  quiet" ;  to  wisdom, 
"Be  foolish." 

Conversation  of  that  kind  is  very  irritating,  when 
you  have  heard  it,  which  Margaret  never  had.  She 


84  THE   PALISER   CASE 

was  otherwise  ignorant.  She  did  not  know  that  a 
sage  wrote  a  book  in  praise  of  folly.  But  she  acted  as 
though  she  knew  it  by  heart.  She  believed,  as  many 
of  us  do  believe,  that  love  confers  the  right  to  run  a 
fence  around  the  happy  mortals  for  whom  we  care. 
It  is  a  very  astounding  belief.  Margaret,  who  believed 
in  many  wonderful  things,  believed  in  that  and,  being 
credulous,  believed  also  that  her  betrothed  had  crawled 
under  the  fence  and  into  what  mire !  It  polluted  her, 
soiled  her  thoughts,  followed  and  smeared  her  in  the 
secret  chambers  of  her  being.  Any  cross  is  heavy. 
This  cross  was  degrading. 

In  her  darkened  room,  on  her  bed  of  pain,  she  had 
shrunk  from  it.  Her  forehead  was  a  coronet  of  fire. 
That  was  nothing.  A  greater  pain  suppresses  a  lesser 
one.  The  burn  of  her  soul  was  a  moxa  to  the  burn  of 
the  flesh. 

The  cross,  at  first,  seemed  to  her  more  than  she 
could  bear.  She  tried  to  put  it  from  her.  Failing  in 
that,  she  tried  to  endure  it.  But  there  are  times  and 
occasions  when  resignation  in  its  self-effacement  re 
sembles  suicide.  She  tried  to  resign  herself,  but  she 
could  not,  her  young  heart  rebelled. 

In  that  rebellion,  evil  came,  peered  at  her,  sat  at 
her  side,  pulled  at  her  sleeve,  sprang  at  her.  The  evil 
was  hatred  for  this  man  who  had  taken  her  love  and 
despoiled  it.  She  clasped  it  to  her.  It  bruised  but 
it  comforted.  It  dulled  both  the  flame  in  her  forehead 
and  the  shame  in  her  soul.  Then  as  suddenly  she  be 
gan  to  cry. 

Philosophy  she  lacked,  but  theosophy,  which  is  a 
pansophy,  she  possessed — when  she  did  not  need  it. 
Now,  when  she  needed  it  most,  it  was  empty  as  the 
noise  in  the  street.  Even  otherwise  it  could  not  have 
changed  the  unchangeable  course  of  events. 


THE   PALISER   CASE  85 

There  are  sins  that  are  scarlet.  There  are  others, 
far  worse,  that  are  drab.  Melancholy  tops  them.  It 
is  a  mere  duty  to  be  serene.  That  she  could  not  be. 
She  could  not  face  life,  as  life  perhaps  is.  She  could 
not  smile  at  a  lover  who  loved  elsewhere.  It  was 
not  herself,  it  was  he  who  prevented  her.  So  she 
thought  and  for  hours  in  her  darkened  room  she 
washed  her  hands  of  him,  washed  them  in  tears.  It 
took  a  wise  man  to  write  the  praise  of  folly. 

The  door  of  the  room  opened.  It  opened  slowly, 
noiselessly,  obviously.  With  exasperating  precau 
tions  Mrs.  Austen  entered.  The  taste  of  benedictine 
was  still  in  her  mouth  and,  savouring  it,  she  whispered : 

"Are  you  asleep?" 

"No." 

"Will  you  eat  anything?" 

"No." 

"Are  you  able  to  talk?" 

Margaret  turned.  She  could  talk,  but  to  what  end 
and  to  whom  ?  Certainly  not  to  her  mother,  who  pos 
sessed  in  its  perfection,  the  household  art  of  misinter 
preting  everything.  Margaret  had  tried  to  love  her. 
But  perhaps  any  affection  is  a  habit  when  it  does  not 
happen  to  be  an  instinct.  The  habit  had  never  been 
formed,  the  instinct  had  been  repressed.  Always  her 
mother  had  treated  her  with  that  indulgence  which  is 
as  empty  as  an  unfilled  grate.  There  was  no  heat 
there.  You  could  not  warm  your  heart  at  it.  But  a 
child  must  love  some  one.  Margaret  had  begun  by  lov 
ing  her  mother.  That  is  the  way  with  children.  They 
begin  by  loving  their  parents.  Later  they  judge  them. 
Sometimes,  though  not  always,  they  forgive.  One 
should  not  judge  anybody.  Margaret  knew  that,  but 
she  was  a  human  being.  She  thought  her  mother  a 
worldly  woman.  The  fact  that  she  was  false  as  Judas 


86  THE    PALISER   CASE 

was  not  apparent  to  this  girl  whose  knowledge  of 
Iscariotism  was  as  hearsay  as  her  knowledge  of 
gorillas. 

Now,  as  she  turned  in  her  bed,  it  was  in  defence 
against  intrusion.  Deference  to  her  mother  she  had 
always  observed.  But  she  could  not  admit  her  to  the 
privacy  of  her  thoughts  and,  in  turning  her  face  to 
the  wall,  she  told  herself  that  she  would  not  be  cross- 
questioned. 

Mrs.  Austen  had  no  intention  of  putting  her  daugh 
ter  in  the  confessional.  Anything  of  the  kind  would 
have  bored  her.  Besides,  what  she  thought  was  un 
important.  It  was  what  she  did  or  might  do  that 
mattered. 

Vacating  the  door  she  approached  the  bed.  "Are 
you  feeling  any  better?" 

Margaret  was  feeling,  if  possible,  worse.  But  she 
never  complained,  or,  if  she  had  to  complain,  then  the 
complaint  was  solely  by  way  of  explanation.  She 
turned  again. 

"For  if  you  are,"  Mrs.  Austen  continued,  "I  ought 
to  say  something." 

Margaret  put  a  hand  to  her  forehead. 

But  Mrs.  Austen  persisted.     "It  is  important." 

Margaret's  eyes  were  open.  She  closed  them  and 
said:  "Yes,  mother,  what  is  it?" 

Through  the  door  came  light  from  the  hall.  Mrs. 
Austen  looked  about.  Nearby  was  a  chair  on  which 
was  one  of  those  garments,  made  of  franfreluches, 
which  the  French  call  a  Jump-from-bed.  Removing 
it,  she  sat  down. 

"It  is  too  bad.  I  know  you  don't  feel  like  discussing 
affairs  of  State,  but  it  is  Luxemburg  all  over  again. 
If  I  were  alone  concerned,  I  am  sure  I  would  capitulate. 
But  where  the  State  is  concerned,  and  by  that  I  mean 


THE   PALISER   CASE  87 

you,  I  am  like  the  little  grand-duchess — pretty  child, 
from  her  pictures,  didn't  you  think? — and  I  must  re 
sist  the  invader.  It  is  true,  I  don't  know  exactly  what 
the  grand-duchess  did  do,  though  they  said  she  sat  in 
a  motor  on  a  bridge  and  flourished  a  revolver.  But 
you  never  can  tell.  I  daresay  she  and  her  maids  of 
honour  hid  in  a  cellar.  Perhaps  we  may  have  to." 

Margaret  lowered  her  hand.  "Mother,  what  are 
you  talking  about  ?"' 

"Your  young  man,  of  course.  What  else?  A  half- 
hour  ago,  he  was  roaring  and  stamping  about  and 
calling  me  a  liar.  If  it  had  not  been  for  my  dead 
body,  he  would  have  rushed  in  here  and  killed  you. 
My  dead  body,  or  what  I  told  him  about  passing  over 
it,  was  the  revolver  that  I  flourished.  He  has  gone, 
but  he  swore  he  would  return.  Now,  unless  you  rally 
to  the  colours,  we  will  have  to  hide  in  the  cellar,  or 
rather,  as  we  haven't  any,  in  the  pantry.  Don't  you 
think  you  could  eat  a  bit  of  sweetbread,  or  perhaps 
some  almond  pudding?" 

Again  Margaret  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 
"Don't  say  that,  mother.  Keith  did  not  call  you  a 
liar  and  it  is  not  like  him  to  roar  and  stamp  about." 

"My  dear,  I  don't  wonder  you  don't  believe  me. 
He  went  on  like  a  madman.  He  could  not  get  over  the 
fact  that  his  dollymop  was  one  too  many  for  you. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  it  was  none  of  your  business." 

"Don't." 

"My  dear  Margaret,  you  must  do  me  the  justice  to 
admit  that  I  stood  up  for  him.  I  said  he  was  an  at 
tractive  young  man.  So  he  is.  But  that  is  just  it. 
Attractive  young  men  are  most  unreliable  and  reliable 
young  men  are  most  unattractive.  At  your  age,  I 
used  to  like  them  fair  and  false.  That  was  your 


88  THE    PALISER   CASE 

father's  fault.  He  perverted  me.  He  was  so 
domestic !" 

It  was  an  old  wound  that  Mrs.  Austen  touched  then 
and  under  it  Margaret  winced.  "The  poor  dear !  He 
was  a  saint  and  you  know  it." 

"Know  it !  I  should  say  I  did.  I  know  too  that  he 
made  me  hate  saints.  But  you  love  them  and  thought 
you  had  one,  instead  of  which  you  got  a  devil.  Your 
luck  is  far  better  than  mine.  If  you  take  my  advice, 
you  will  hang  on  to  him  like  grim  death.  It  is  not 
too  late.  To-morrow  he  will  be  here,  thundering  at 
the  gates." 

Dimly  at  the  moment  the  girl's  creed  turned  a  ray 
on  her.  She  lifted  her  head. 

"He  will  not  thunder  at  the  gates  and  he  is  not  what 
you  say.  But  perhaps  I  am.  I  may  have  done  worse 
than  he  has  and  what  he  has  done  is  my  punishment." 

It  was  very  little  but  it  was  too  much.  Mrs.  Austen, 
in  spite  of  her  facile  digestion,  gagged  at  it 

"If  that  is  theosophy,  I  will  believe  it  when  I  am 
old,  fat  and  a  Hun." 

Margaret  sank  back.  "But  I  am  sorry  you  have 
been  annoyed.  It  won't  happen  again.  I  will  write 
to  him." 

Later,  she  did  write. 

Forgive  me,  dear  Keith,  if  I  cause  you  pain,  but  I  feel 
that  I  am  not  suited  to  you.  Forgive  me  therefore  for 
not  recognising  it  sooner.  I  have  thought  it  all  over  and, 
though  it  wrings  my  heart  to  say  it,  I  cannot  see  you 
again.  Forgive  me  and  forget. 

MARGARET. 


XII 

HELL  was  supposed  to  be  very  hot,  very  red,  full  of 
pugnacious  demons.  Educated  people  do  not  be 
lieve  in  it  any  more.  It  is  curious  how  ignorant  edu 
cated  people  have  become.  Hell  is  an  actual  plane, 
less  vivid  than  was  formerly  imagined,  not  hot  but 
cold,  grey  rather  than  red,  but  amply  provided  with  de 
mons,  with  the  devils  of  self-accusation,  with  the  fiends 
of  insoluble  queries.  Very  real  and  very  actual,  it  is 
surprising  how  many  educated  people  are  there.  The 
oddity  of  that  is  increased  by  the  fact  that  they  regard 
it  as  a  private  establishment.  They  regard  their  hell 
as  unique.  Perhaps  the  idea  flatters  them.  Yet  soon 
er  or  later  everybody  enters  it.  Hell  may  seem  private. 
It  is  universal. 

Headlong  into  it,  Margaret's  letter  precipitated  Len 
nox.  Being  a  man,  he  struggled  up.  But  not  out. 
In  hell  there  are  no  signposts.  It  takes  time  to  find 
one's  way.  It  takes  more,  it  takes  resignation.  When 
both  have  been  acquired,  the  walls  part  of  themselves. 
The  aspect  of  life  has  altered,  but  you  are  free. 

Lennox,  in  struggling  up,  encountered  the  demons 
of  enigmatic  riddles.  Each  word  of  Margaret's  letter 
they  converted  into  a  Why?  They  thrust  it  at  him, 
demanding  an  answer.  But  the  answer  her  heart 
alone  possessed.  That  heart  had  been  his.  It  was  his 
no  longer.  The  heart  that  she  had  given  him,  she  had 
taken  away.  Nothing  could  be  simpler  and  nothing 
more  mysterious.  The  mystification  was  complete, 
but  not  the  suffering.  Suffering  is  never  complete. 

89 


90  THE    PALISER    CASE 

However  deep  the  hell,  there  is  always  a  deeper  one. 

From  the  letter  he  looked  at  the  walls.  They  were 
dumb.  There  was  no  answer  for  the  demons  there, 
not  anywhere,  perhaps,  except  among  werewolves, 
basilisks  and  Mrs.  Austens.  These  monsters  did  not 
occur  to  him.  The  monstrous  letter  sufficed.  But 
Margaret  was  still  too  near,  her  vows  were  too  recent 
for  him  to  credit  it,  and  the  fact  that  he  could  not  dis 
closed  itself  in  those  words  which  all  have  uttered,  all 
at  least  before  whom  the  inexplicable  has  sprung. 

"It  is  impossible!" 

Yet  there  it  was.  Yet  there  too  was  something 
else.  But  what?  At  once  he  was  back  again  in  the 
issueless  circle  of  infernal  questions. 

The  day  before  he  had  known  that  something  was 
amiss.  The  attitude  of  Mrs.  Austen  had  been  too  as 
sured,  too  venomous,  too  smiling,  for  him  to  doubt 
it.  But  though  he  did  not  doubt  that,  not  for  a  second 
did  he  doubt  Margaret  either.  Always  aware  of  the 
woman's  hostility,  he  had  been  equally  aware  that  it 
could  not  influence  the  girl.  Not  for  a  moment  there 
fore  had  he  accepted  the  statement  that  the  engagev 
ment  was  broken.  At  the  time  he  had  thought  that 
when  next  he  had  a  word  with  Margaret  it  would  all 
be  explained.  But  all  what?  His  life  was  as  clean 
as  his  face.  It  was  not  that  then.  On  the  other  hand 
he  was  not  rich.  By  the  same  token,  Margaret's  only 
idea  of  money  was  to  help  others  with  it.  It  was  not 
that  then  either.  Nor  was  it  that  she  had  not  loved 
him.  She  had  loved  him.  He  could  have  sworn  it 
and  not  out  of  vanity,  for  he  had  none,  but  because 
never  could  she  have  promised  herself  to  him  if  she 
had  not.  None  the  less,  she  could  not  see  him  again. 
She  had  thought  it  over.  She  was  not  suited  to  him. 
He  was  told  to  forget  her.  Why? 


THE    PALISER    CASE  91 

That  Why,  repeating  itself,  forced  him  deeper  into 
the  circles  of  which  hell  is  made. 

But  even  in  hell  despair  is  brief.  Unless  it  con 
sume  you  utterly,  and  it  would  not  be  hell  if  it  did,  it 
goads.  It  compels  you  to  seek  an  issue.  Apart  from 
time,  which  is  very  slow,  and  resignation,  which  is 
never  prompt,  there  is  another  portal. 

A  poet,  who  discovered  it,  scrawled  on  it:  "Lascia 
la  donna  e  studia  la  matematica" — a  cryptogram  which 
subsequent  pilgrims  variously  deciphered.  To  some, 
it  spelled  Thought;  to  others,  Action.  Action  is 
thought  put  in  motion. 

Lennox,  to  whom  time  was  too  dilatory  and  resigna 
tion  too  remote,  happened  on  the  device  which  he 
translated  after  his  manner. 

But  however  you  construe  the  hierograph,  the  door 
must  be  demolished  before  you  get  out.  Across  the 
door  is  written :  Hope.  It  is  a  very  hard  door  to 
crack.  When  you  succeed  you  are  covered  with 
splinters.  They  cling  to  you  and  pierce  you.  Joiners, 
carpenters,  pilgrims,  poets  and  fiends  have  a  name  for 
them.  They  call  the  splinters  Regrets.  Though  you 
have  escaped,  they  accompany  you.  Hell  encircles  you 
still. 

It  was  on  the  day  following  the  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Austen  that  Lennox  received  Margaret's  letter. 
In  his  dark  rooms  it  was  waiting.  A  moment  previous 
he  had  intended  to  go  to  her.  He  had  it  all  planned. 
Mrs.  Austen  could  say  what  she  liked;  the  physician 
might  interfere;  he  would  submit  to  no  one.  He  pro 
posed  to  see  her,  to  adjust  it,  to  swing  up  and  out  from 
the  circles  which  already  were  closing  about  him. 

On  leaving  Mrs.  Austen  he  had  gone  to  dinner.  He 
could  not  eat.  He  had  gone  to  bed.  He  could  not 


92  THE    PALISER    CASE 

sleep.  In  the  morning  his  face  was  flushed.  Always 
fit,  hard  as  nails,  these  phenomena  perplexed.  Yet 
he  knew  it  was  not  illness  that  produced  them.  What 
he  did  not  know  was  that  poison  had.  The  poison  was 
anger,  an  unphilosophic  emotion  which  disturbs  the 
circulation,  the  stomach  and  social  intercourse.  He 
could  have  wrung  Mrs.  Austen's  neck. 

In  that  murderous  mood  he  went  to  Wall  Street 
and  in  that  mood  returned.  Already  hell  was  gaping. 
Headlong  into  it  the  letter  threw  him.  Being  a  man  he 
sought  and  found  the  door,  smashed  it  and  passed  out. 
Not  at  once  however.  It  took  him  many  a  sleepless 
hour  before  he  deciphered  the  device  Lascia  la  donna. 
Leave  the  lady?  Certainly.  Since  she  so  wished, 
what  else  in  decency  could  he  do  ?  Go  and  badger  her 
with  complaints  and  questions?  Not  he.  But  how 
do  you  translate :  Studia  la  matematica?  The  diction 
ary  that  is  in  every  man,  who  is  a  man,  told  him.  Then 
he  knew.  Meanwhile  the  flush  in  departing  left  him 
grey. 

In  every  affection  there  is  the  germ  of  hate.  Mar 
garet,  confronted  by  the  unawaited,  hated  Lennox. 
Lennox,  confronted  by  the  inexplicable,  hated  Mar 
garet.  Hatred  is  love  turned  inside  out.  Love  is 
perhaps  a  fermentation  of  the  molecules  of  the  imag 
ination.  In  that  case  so  also  is  hate.  Of  all  things 
mystery  disturbs  the  imagination  most.  Margaret 
could  not  understand  how  Lennox  could  have  acted 
as  he  had.  Lennox  could  not  understand  how  Mar 
garet  could  act  as  she  did.  Dual  misunderstanding, 
in  which  the  imagination  fermented.  Hence  the  hate. 
Yet  each,  in  hating,  loved  the  other.  Each  felt  the 
splinters  which,  as  Browning  somewhere  noted,  kept 
fresh  and  fine.  Only  a  touch  and  the  splinters  would 
have  joined. 


THE   PALISER   CASE  93 

Mrs.  Austen,  for  all  her  horrible  shrewdness,  could 
not  have  prevented  that.  But  pride,  that  gives  so 
many  of  us  a  fall,  was  more  potent  than  she.  Mar 
garet,  insulted,  could  but  turn  away.  Lennox,  dis 
missed,  could  but  let  her  go. 

Any  emotion  is  unbecoming.  Pride  is  merely 
ridiculous.  It  resides  in  the  youthful-minded,  how 
ever  old.  In  residing  in  these  young  people,  it  re 
sisted  the  touch  that  would  have  combined  them  and, 
through  its  opposition,  made  one  of  them  ill  and  the 
other  grey.  To  be  proud!  How  splendid  it  seems 
and  how  stupid  it  is.  Hell  is  paved  with  just  such 
imbecilities. 

It  is  said  of  Dante  that  children  peered  at  him  and 
whispered :  "That  man  has  been  in  hell." 

None  of  the  children  that  clubmen  are,  pointed  at 
Lennox,  though  two  of  them  whispered.  The  others 
did  not  know,  not  yet  at  least.  But  Verelst  knew  and 
Jones  guessed.  The  guess  was  due  to  the  romantic 
profession  that  endows  a  novelist  with  the  wonderful 
faculty  of  putting  two  and  two  together. 

Hitherto,  that  is  since  the  engagement  was  an 
nounced  and,  for  that  matter,  long  previously,  Lennox 
had  passed  the  evening  in  Park  Avenue.  Where  else 
would  he  have  passed  it?  After  the  rupture  he  sat 
about  and  read  all  the  papers.  When  a  man  is  down 
and  out  that  is  just  what  he  does  do,  though  not  neces 
sarily  in  the  Athenaeum  Club. 

Jones,  noticing  it,  rapidly  divined  the  reason  which 
Verelst  confirmed. 

"Yes,  her  mother  told  me." 

It  was  in  a  club  window,  of  an  afternoon.  Before 
them  was  Fifth  Avenue  which,  in  the  Aprils  of  not  so 
long  ago,  used  to  be  a  horse-show  of  fair  faces,  ravish- 


94  THE    PALISER    CASE 

ing  hats,  discreet  liveries,  folded  arms  and  yards  of 
yodling  brass. 

Verelst,  eyeing  the  usurping  motors,  added:  "It  is 
because  of  some  girl  I  believe,  or  rather  I  don't  believe 
it." 

Jones  sat  back.  Instantly  the  motors  were  replaced 
by  the  picture  of  a  girl  whose  face  was  noble  and 
reserved.  He  had  seen  the  face  at  the  Bazaar.  He 
had  seen  Lennox  talking  to  it.  Afterward  Lennox 
had  told  him  that  the  girl  was  Portuguese.  The  pic 
ture  was  attractive  but  unconvincing.  In  agreement 
with  Verelst  he  was  about  to  say  so.  But  behind  him 
he  heard  a  voice  that  he  knew  and  he  switched  and 
said : 

"What  a  remarkable  country  Portugal  is!  Born 
dumb,  she  spoke  twice :  once  when  she  gave  Asia  to 
Europe,  again  when  she  presented  the  Lusiades  to  the 
world.  Her  history  is  resumed  in  two  miracles,  a 
discovery  and  a  masterpiece.  But  when  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  was  succeeded  by  Camoens,  once  more  she 
relapsed  into  a  silence  that  was  broken  only  when  she 
shouted  her  defiance  at  the  Huns." 

Now  though  that  voice  was  addressing  them.  Both 
turned  and  Lennox  asked:  "What  are  you  talking 
about — war?" 

"Sit  down,"  said  Verelst,  who  gave  him  a  hand. 

Jones  gave  him  another.  "What  else  is  there  to 
talk  about?  It  will  be  talked  of  forever.  So  will 
that  scrofulous  Kaiser.  Unfortunately  he  knows  it 
and  that  pleases  him.  Last  year  or  the  year  before  he 
called  for  the  death  and  destruction  of  all  who  op 
posed  him.  With  singular  modesty  he  added :  'God 
who  speaks  through  my  mouth  so  orders!'  Loti 
claims  that  what  spoke  through  him  was  a  hyena.  Loti 


THE   PALISER   CASE  95 

is  lacking  in  literary  sobriety.  When  a  hyena  has 
eaten  he  is  at  peace  with  the  world.  But  when  was 
bestiality  ever  filled?  It  is  insatiable  and  so  is  this 
thug  whom  God,  at  most,  may  have  permitted  to  look 
in  the  mirror  without  vomiting.  Meanwhile  we  stand 
by.  A  generation  ago  we  fought  for  Cuba.  What 
is  Hecuba  to  us  in  comparison  to  the  Anima  Mundi?" 

Verelst  turned  on  the  novelist.  "And  what  is 
literary  sobriety?  You  are  hurling  words  in  massed 
formation." 

Jones  smiled  at  him.     "Where  is  my  harp  ?" 

"You  mean  your  megaphone,"  Lennox  put  in.  "You 
are  always  rehearsing  copy.  One  of  these  days  I  may 
give  you  some." 

"From  the  front?"  Jones  asked. 

"Yes,  though  I  don't  see  how  you  knew.  The 
President  has  asked  for  war.  Why  aren't  we  up  and 
at  'em?  If  Congress  hems  and  haws  over  it  much 
longer,  I'll  get  my  gun  and  join  the  Foreign  Legion." 

Jones  nodded.  He  had  guessed  that  also  and  he 
said :  "Wait  and  join  the  legions  here.  At  present, 
the  country  is  alarmingly  apathetic.  The  man  in  the 
subway  is  muddled.  The  call  to  arms  does  not  stir 
him.  The  issues,  clear  enough  to  us,  seem  to  him 
mixed  as  macaroni.  He  does  not  understand  a  war 
that  Is  three  thousand  miles  away.  But  in  a  year, 
every  man  in  the  country — a  country  that  has  never 
been  beaten ! — will  be  in  it  body  and  soul.  Undividedly, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  we  will  be  in  it  as  we  have  never 
been  in  anything  before." 

The  novelist  touched  a  bell.  "Lennox,  have  a 
Bronx.  Verelst,  what  will  you  take?  I'll  wager  a 
pippin  that  war  is  declared  to-morrow." 

"Done,"  said  Verelst — who  lost  it. 


XIII 

THE  two  hundred  and  fifty — less  ten  per  cent — 
which  an  imaginary  Mrs.  Beamish  had  paid  for 
the  pleasure  of  not  hearing  Cassy  sing,  transported 
the  girl  who  was  not  given  to  transports.  These  sub 
siding,  she  viewed  the  matter  from  its  business  aspect. 
She  needed  a  frock,  a  wrap,  a  hat,  gloves,  shoes  and 
certain  things  that  are  nowhere  visible  except  in  ad 
vertisements,  shop-windows  and  extreme  privacy. 
Also,  her  hair  required  tralalaing.  Meanwhile,  first 
and  foremost,  Lennox  must  be  paid.  The  subsidy  was 
not  too  much  by  a  penny.  These  considerations  oc 
cupied  but  an  instant. 

"When  is  it?"  she  asked  the  Tamburini,  who,  a  mo 
ment  before,  had  dumbfounded  her  with  the  money. 

"When  is  what?"  inquired  the  ex-star  who  already 
had  forgotten  Mrs.  Beamish. 

"Why,  the  concert!" 

Carlotta  Tamburini  was  dressed  like  a  fat  idol,  in 
silk  and  false  pearls.  There  the  idolatry  ceased.  In 
her  hand  was  an  umbrella  and  on  her  head  a  hat  of 
rose-leaves  which  a  black  topknot  surmounted.  About 
her  shoulders  was  a  feather  boa.  It  seemed  a  bit 
mangy.  Seated  on  Cassy's  bed  she  looked  at  a  win 
dow  that  gave  on  a  wall.  Cassy  was  standing.  Be 
hind  Cassy  wr.s  a  door  which  the  extinguished  light 
had  closed.  Beyond,  in  the  living-room,  was  the  mar- 

96 


THE    PALISER   CASE  97 

quis.  Anything  that  he  did  not  hear  would  not  hurt 
him. 

"Oh,  she'll  let  us  know." 

"What  sort  of  a  catamount  is  she?" 

At  that  the  former  prima  donna's  imagination 
balked.  But  she  got  something  out.  "Nice  enough. 
What  do  you  care  ?" 

"I  hate  all  those  snobs." 

"So  do  I,"  said  the  Tamburini,  who  worshipped  the 
breed  even  when  non-existent.  "But  don't  go  and  in 
clude  him.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him " 

"Was  he  with  her?" 

"You  ought  to  have  heard  the  way  he  went  on  about 
you.  She  said:  'Why,  Monty,  I  do  believe  you'd  like 
to  marry  her/  ' 

Cassy's  mouth  twitched  as  she  munched  it.  "She 
presumed  to  say  that !  She's  an  insolent  beast." 

"He  shut  her  up,  I  can  tell  you.  He  said  if  he  got 
on  his  knees,  you  wouldn't  dust  your  feet  on  him." 

"That  jackanapes!     I  should  say  not!" 

"You  might  say  worse.  Take  the  Metro.  You're 
spat  on  if  you're  down  and  spat  at  if  you're  up.  A 
dog's  own  life."  Lifting  her  voice,  the  fat  woman 
sang:  "Croyez-moi  car  j'ai  passe  par  la." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

Nothing  whatever,  the  Tamburini  truthfully  re 
flected  but  omitted  to  say  so.  Paliser,  in  producing 
Mrs.  Beamish,  had  also  produced  the  programme. 
With  both  was  a  cheque.  With  the  cheque  was  the  as 
surance  of  another  and  a  bigger  one.  She  had  only  to 
earn  it.  To  earn  it  she  had  only  to  follow  the  pro 
gramme.  The  poor  soul  was  trying  to.  The  job 
was  not  easy.  Cassy  was  skittish.  A  pull  on  the  rein 
and  she  would  kick  the  apple-cart  over. 


§8  THE    PALISER   CASE 

Femininely  she  discounted  it  all.  Cassy  was  not 
worth  the  time,  the  trouble,  particularly  the  careful 
handling.  There  were  girls  in  plenty,  quite  as  good- 
Jooking,  who,  without  stopping  to  count  two,  or  even 
one,  would  jump  at  it.  But  there  you  were!  Paliser 
did  not  want  partridges  that  flew  broiled  into  his 
mouth.  A  true  sportsman,  he  liked  to  snare  the  bird. 
The  feminine  in  her  understood  that  also.  Besides  it 
was  all  grist  for  her  mill.  But  the  grist  was  uphill, 
and  if  the  noble  marquis  got  so  much  as  an  inkling  of 
it,  he  was  just  the  sort  of  damn  fool  to  whip  out  his 
sword-cane  and  run  her  through.  The  honour  of  the 
Casa-Evora,  what  ?  Yet,  being  on  the  job,  she  buckled 
to  it. 

"What  will  you  get,  dearie?" 

Cassy  sat  down.  Her  previous  ruminations  re 
turned.  Escorting  them  was  a  vision  of  a  baronial 
castle.  In  the  hall,  a  guest-book  in  which  you  wrote 
your  name.  A  squad  of  lackeys  that  showed  you 
into  a  suite  of  salons.  Rugs  on  which  there  was  peace ; 
sofas  on  which  there  was  ease;  etageres  on  which 
there  were  reveries.  Nothing  else.  No  cupboards 
hung  with  confections.  No  models  sailing  in  and  out. 
Nothing  so  commercial  as  anything  for  sale.  Noth 
ing  but  patrician  repose  and  the  chatelaine — a  duchess 
disguised  as  a  dressmaker — who  might,  or  might  not, 
ask  you  upstairs. 

In  war  time  at  that!  Though,  it  is  true,  Congress 
had  only  just  declared  it. 

But,  Cassy  reflected,  two  hundred  and  fifty,  with 
Lennox  deducted  and  less  ten  per  cent,  would  not  take 
her  as  far  as  the  drawbridge.  The  fleeting  vision  of 
the  castle  passed,  replaced  by  the  bargain  seductions  of 
department-stores. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  99 

Fingering  the  money,  she  said:  "Where  does  this 
person  live?  She  ought  to  send  a  taxi." 

"Certamente,"  replied  the  fat  woman,  lapsing,  as  she 
occasionally  did  lapse,  into  the  easy  Italian  of  the  lyric 
stage.  "She  certainly  will." 

Cassy  jumped  up.  "Well,  then,  you  come  along 
while  I  take  a  look  about.  Afterward  we  will  have 
lunch.  I'll  eat,  you  can  watch  me  and  I'll  tell  you  how 
it  tastes.  There's  the  telephone !" 

Cassy  opened  the  door,  went  out  into  the  narrow  and 
shadowy  hall  and  took  the  receiver. 

"Yes?  Oh!  None  the  better  for  the  asking.  To 
night?  Impossible.  To-morrow?  Perhaps.  Good 
bye." 

"Who  was  that  ?"  the  noble  marquis  called  from  the 
room  beyond. 

"An  imbecile  who  wants  me  to  dine  and  go  to  the 
opera." 

"Not  that  Paliser?" 

Cassy,  poking  her  head  in  at  him,  threw  him  a  kiss 
and  returned  to  the  Tamburini  with  whom,  a  little 
later,  she  was  praying  among  the  worshippers  that 
thread  the  sacred  and  silent  way  where  Broadway  and 
Sixth  Avenue  meet. 

In  an  adjacent  basilica,  the  atmosphere  charged 
with  pious  emanations,  with  envy,  malice,  greed  and 
all  other  charitableness,  choked  the  girl.  But  at  last 
the  holy  rites  were  ended.  To  the  voluntary  of 
$109.99,  sne  passed  into  the  peace  of  Herald  Square 
where  the  ex-diva  swayed,  stopped  and  holding  her 
umbrella  as  one  holds  a  guitar,  looked  hopelessly  and 
helplessly  about. 

"You're  not  preparing  to  serenade  the  Elevated?" 
Cassy  bawled  in  her  ear. 


ioo  THE   PALISER   CASE 

In  the  slam-bang  of  trains  and  the  metallic  howls  of 
surface  cars  that  herded  and  volplaned  about  them, 
the  fat  lady,  now  apparently  gone  mad,  was  gesticu 
lating  insanely.  Yet  she  was  but  indicating,  or  trying 
to  indicate,  the  relative  refuge  of  a  side  street  in  which 
there  was  a  cook-shop. 

Then,  presently,  after  all  the  dangers  that  may  be 
avoided  in  remaining  at  home,  and  supplied  with  such 
delights  as  clam  fritters  offer,  she  savorously  re 
marked  :  "I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  be  sick." 

The  charm  of  scented  streets,  the  sedatives  of  shop 
ping,  the  joy  of  lightsome  fritters,  these  things,  com 
bined  with  the  job,  the  unearned  cheque  and  the  fear 
of  losing  both,  made  her  ghastly. 

Cassy,  devoid  of  pity,  said :  "Have  some  beer." 

The  Tamburini  gulped.  "I  couldn't  talk  to  you  this 
morning  and  I've  got  to.  It's  for  your  own  good, 
dearie;  it  is,  so  help  me!  Supposing  he  is  a  jacka 
napes.  What  do  you  want  ?  A  prize-fighter  ?  Take 
it  from  me,  whether  he  is  one  or  the  other,  in  no  time 
it  will  be  quite  the  same." 

Cassy's  lips  curled.  "Croyez-moi  car  j'ai  passe  par 
la."  But,  in  mocking  the  woman,  she  frowned.  "What 
business  is  it  of  yours?" 

The  fallen  star  gulped  again.  Conscious  that  she 
had  struck  the  wrong  note,  she  struck  another.  "Your 
papa  is  no  better,  is  he  ?  Between  you  and  me  and  the 
bedpost,  I  doubt  if  he  ever  will  be.  I  doubt  if  he 
plays  again.  You'll  have  to  look  after  him.  How're 
you  going  to?  You  can't  expect  to  sing  every  night 
to  the  tune  of  two  hundred  and  fifty.  Not  with  war 
marching  in  on  us.  Not  with  everybody  hard  up." 

Cassy  had  been  about  to  order  a  chocolate  eclair. 
The  new  note  stayed  her.  But  though  new,  it  was  not 


THE   PALISER   CASE  101 

novel.  She  had  heard  it  before.  It  rang  true.  Ab 
sently  she  shoved  at  her  plate. 

In  theory  she  knew  her  way  about.  The  migratory 
systems  of  domestic  experience  said  nothing  to  her, 
nor,  thus  far,  had  the  charts  of  matrimony  either. 
In  the  sphere  of  life  to  which  a  walk-up  leads,  the 
charts  were  dotted  with  but  the  postman  and  the  cor 
ner  druggist.  Men  and  plenty  of  them  she  had  met, 
but  they  too  said  nothing  and  not  at  all  because  they 
were  dumb,  but  because,  as  the  phrase  is,  they  did  not 
talk  her  language.  But  for  every  exception  there  is 
perhaps  a  rule.  The  one  man  who  did  speak  her  lan 
guage,  had  held  his  tongue. 

Now,  as  she  shoved  at  her  plate,  she  saw  him,  saw 
the  tea-caddy,  saw  his  rooms  and  saw  too,  as  she  left 
them,  the  girl  to  whom  he  was  engaged.  In  the  mem 
ory  of  that  she  lingered  and  looked  down. 

"Why,  he  could  lead  an  orchestra  of  his  own,  your 
papa  could." 

Cassy  looked  up.  She  had  been  far  away,  too  far, 
in  a  land  where  dreams  do  not  come  true.  Impatiently 
she  twisted.  "What?" 

"Didn't  you  hear  me,  dearie?  I  was  talking  about 
money — bushels  of  it." 

About  the  bushels  the  woman  rolled  her  tongue. 
They  tasted  better  than  the  fritters. 

A  waiter  approached.  The  room  was  long,  dark, 
narrow,  slovenly,  spaced  with  tables  on  which  were 
maculate  cloths  and  lamps  with  faded  shades.  Greas 
ily  the  waiter  produced  the  bill. 

"Bushels!"  she  appetisingly  repeated. 

Cassy  paid.     The  waiter  slouched  away. 

"You  will  drive  through  life  in  a  hundred  horse- 


102  THE   PALISER   CASE 

power  car  and  be  fined  for  speeding.  The  papers  will 
say: 'Mrs.  Pal '" 

"What  did  he  pay  you  to  tell  me  that?"  Cassy  ex 
ploded  at  her. 

Unruffled  by  the  shot,  which  was  part  and  parcel 
of  the  job,  and  realising  that  any  denial  would  only 
confirm  what  at  most  could  be  but  a  suspicion,  the  for 
mer  diva  fingered  her  pearls  and  assumed  an  air  of 
innocence. 

But  already  Cassy  had  covered  her  with  her  blotting- 
paper  look.  "As  if  I  cared !" 

"Dearie,  he  did  pay  me.  He  paid  me  the  compli 
ment  of  supposing  that  I  take  an  interest  in  you.  But 
he  said  nothing  except  what  I  said  he  said.  He  said 
if  he  got  down  on  his  knees  you  would  turn  your  back 
on  him." 

"Then  he  is  cleverer  than  he  looks." 

"Well,  anyway,  he  is  clever  enough  to  have  bushels 
of  money  and  that  is  the  greatest  cleverness  there  is." 

"In  New  York,"  retorted  Cassy,  who  had  never  been 
anywhere  else,  physically  at  least,  though  mentally  her 
little  feet  had  trod  the  streets  of  Milan,  the  boards  of 
the  Scala. 

"It  can't  be  much  different  in  Patagonia,"  replied 
this  lady,  who,  to  save  her  life,  could  not  have  told 
whether  the  land  was  Asiatic  or  African,  nor  who,  to 
save  her  soul — if  the  latter  were  still  salvable — could 
not  have  told  that  it  was  neither.  "Besides,"  she  added, 
"I  was  only  thinking  of  your  poor,  dear  papa." 

Cassy  said  nothing.  She  stood  up.  She  was  mak 
ing  for  the  door  and  the  charm  of  the  scented  streets. 

Ma  Tamby  sighed,  rose  and  followed.  It  was  the 
devil's  own  job.  Housebreaking  must  be  easier! 


XIV 

C ASSY'S  department-store  investments  reached 
her  the  next  day.  Her  father,  who  opened  the 
door  to  them,  fell  back  before  the  sum  total  of  the 
C.  O.  D.  With  an  arm  in  a  sling,  he  could  not  hold 
the  packages,  much  less  pay  for  them,  and  he  gasped  as 
he  called  for  aid. 

The  money  that  Cassy  then  produced  seemed  to 
him  darkly  mysterious  and  although  he  believed  as 
firmly  in  her  virtue,  as,  before  the  break,  he  had  be 
lieved  in  the  maestria  of  his  own  right  hand,  none  the 
less,  in  addition  to  aid,  he  exacted  light. 

Cassy,  dumping  the  packages  on  her  bed,  occupied 
herself  in  verifying  the  change  which  amounted  to 
one  cent.  Then  she  sketched  it. 

His  surprise  fell  away.  The  mythical  catamount, 
the  imaginary  concert,  the  ponderable  subsidy — two 
hundred  and  fifty,  less  ten  per  cent. — seemed  to  him 
natural  and  an  unnatural  world. 

"And  there's  about  ten  dollars  remaining,"  Cassy 
resumed.  "Ten  dollars  and  a  penny.  You  can  have 
the  penny  and  I  will  keep  the  ten,  or  I'll  keep  the  ten 
and  you  can  have  the  penny." 

That  also  seemed  natural.  But  the  addition  or  sub 
traction  disclosed  a  deficit  and  he  exclaimed  at  it. 
"You  said  two  hundred  and  fifty !" 

Cassy  too  saw  the  hole,  but  she  could  not  lie  out  of  it. 
"Well,  I  owed  the  difference." 

In  speaking  she  turned.  Before  her  was  a  mirror 
in  which  she  glanced  at  her  hair  that  had  been 

103 


104  THE    PALISER   CASE 

superiorly  tralala'd.  She  turned  again,  reflecting  that 
Lennox  must  have  already  received  the  postal-order, 
which  she  had  mailed  the  night  before,  and  wonder 
ing  whether  he  had  liked  her  little  scrawl  of  indignant 
thanks. 

"I'll  tell  you  about  it  later,"  she  added.  "Now  I 
must  get  your  dinner.  How  would  you  like  a  tender 
loin,  a  salad,  and  a  box  of  Camembert?" 

He  shuffled.  "There  is  no  Camembert  any  more." 
The  tragedy  of  that  seemed  to  overwhelm  him.  "I 
wish  I  were  dead." 

Cassy  laughed.  "Now  it's  the  cheese.  On  Satur 
day  it  was  the  violin.  Well,  you  got  it  back.  What 
will  you  say  if  I  find  some  Camembert?  Do  stop 
meowing.  Any  one  might  think  you  didn't  have  me." 

At  her  young  laughter,  he  groaned.  "Formerly 
if  I  let  a  day  go  without  practising,  I  noticed  it.  If 
I  let  two  days  go,  Toscanini  noticed  it.  Now  it's 
weeks  and  weeks.  It's  killing  me." 

To  cheer  him,  Cassy  said  gaily:  "The  artist  never 
dies." 

But  it  did  not  cheer  him.  Besides,  though  Cassy 
had  laughed,  there  had  been  a  tugging  at  her  heart 
strings.  Shabby,  unkempt,  in  a  frayed  dressing-gown, 
his  arm  in  a  dismal  sling,  he  looked  so  out  of  it,  so 
forlorn,  so  old. 

He  had  shuffled  away.  She  bit  her  lip.  Later, 
when  he  had  had  his  tenderloin  and  she  had  depart 
ment-stored  herself,  a  pint  of  grocer's  burgundy  had 
reduced  him  to  tears. 

The  day  before  it  had  seemed  to  her  that  the  frock 
would  do.  But  her  judgment  had  been  hurried. 
Shops,  crowds,  the  vibrations  of  both,  devitalised  and 
confused  her.  In  choosing  the  frock  she  had  not 
therefore  given  it  the  consideration  which  it  perhaps 


THE   PALISER   CASE  105 

did  not  merit,  and  now  her  mirror  shrieked  it.  The 
frock  was  not  suited  to  her.  Nothing  was  suited  to 
her,  except  the  produce  of  baronial  halls,  where  the 
simplest  thing  exceeded  the  dreams  of  avarice,  or  else 
the  harlequinades  which  she  herself  devised.  None 
the  less  she  would  have  liked  to  have  haa  her  father 
exclaim  and  tell  her  how  smart  she  looked.  He 
omitted  it. 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"I  told  you.     Dinner  and  the  opera." 

"Opera!  There  is  no  opera  to-night.  What  do 
you  mean?  What  did  you  tell  me?" 

On  the  table  were  dishes  and  the  lamentable  bottle. 
Cassy,  in  doubt  whether  to  clear  them  then  or  later, 
hesitated.  The  hesitation  he  misconstrued. 

"You  told  me  nothing.  You  tell  me  nothing.  I 
am  kept  in  the  dark." 

Cassy,  adjusting  the  wrap  which  she  had  left  open 
that  he  might  admire  the«unadmirable,  moved  to  where 
he  sat  and  touched  him.  "You're  the  silliest  kind  of 
a  silly.  I  told  you  yesterday.  Perhaps  the  opera  was 
last  night.  But  how  could  I  go?  Except  that  old 
blacktrag  I  had  nothing  to  wear.  If  there  is  no  opera 
to-night,  there  will  be  a  concert  or  something.  Don't 
you  remember  now?  I  was  at  the  telephone." 

He  did  remember,  but  apparently  the  recollection 
displeased.  He  growled.  "Yes.  It  was  that  Paliser." 

"Well,  why  not?  If  it  had  not  been  for  him,  I 
would  not  have  got  the  catamount's  money  and  you 
would  not  have  had  the  burgundy." 

But  he  was  not  to  be  mollified.  The  growl  sharp 
ened  into  a  snarl.  "Paliser!  I  don't  like  the  breed. 
By  God,  if " 

The  peradventure  of  that  Cassy  got  before  he  could 
utter  it.  Paliser!  Of  all  men!  The  absurdity  con- 


106  THE    PALISER    CASE 

vulsed  her.     Her  laughter  ran  up  and  down  the  scale. 

"You're  the  dearest  old  duck  of  a  goose  I  ever 
heard  of."  She  turned.  Her  wrap  swished.  "I 
only  wish  you  were  going  too." 

Below,  in  the  street,  a  man,  precipitatingly  vacating 
the  box  of  a  machine,  touched  his  cap  at  her.  "Beg 
pardon,  mem.  Miss  Cara  ?  Mr.  Paliser's  compliments 
and  he's  sent  a  car." 

Cassy  glanced  at  the  man,  who  looked  like  a  Roman 
emperor.  From  the  man  she  turned  to  the  car. 
Superiorly  and  soberly  finished,  it  beckoned.  Now, 
though,  the  Caesar  was  holding  open  the  door.  Cassy 
got  in.  The  emperor  hopped  up.  The  car  leaped. 

On  the  front  seat  was  a  box  with  her  name  on  it. 
In  it  was  a  handful  of  orchids.  The  luxury  of  the 
car,  the  beauty  of  the  demon-flowers,  the  flight  from 
the  walk-up,  yet  more,  perhaps,  the  caresses  and  sur 
renders  of  spring,  affected  her.  If,  she  thought,  if 
only  the  things  that  might  be  could  be  the  things 
that  are!  If  only 

On  the  pale  cushions  she  leaned  back.  Before  her 
a  curtain  parted.  In  a  wide,  marble-flagged  hall  she 
was  looking  at  a  girl  who  was  looking  at  her.  A 
moment  before  he  had  said:  "That  is  Miss  Austen 
to  whom  I  am  engaged."  A  moment  before  she  had 
seen  her  picture.  The  girl  was  good  to  look  at,  so 
good  that,  without  further  acquaintance,  you  knew 
she  was  good  through  and  through.  There  was  no 
mistaking  that.  But  was  she  good  enough?  Was 
any  girl  good  enough  for  him?  And  who  was  that 
with  her?  Probably  her  mother  who  probably  too  was 
the  catamount's  sister.  They  had  a  family  likeness. 
Then  at  once  the  scene  shifted.  Cassy  was  in  a  room 
floored  with  thick  rugs,  hung  with  heavy  draperies,  and 
in  that  room  the  catamount  had  hired  her  to  sing! 


THE   PALISER   CASE  107 

But  the  disgust  of  it  passed.  The  curtain  fell.  Cassy 
turned  to  the  window,  through  which  a  breath  of  lilac 
blew. 

She  sniffed  and  stared.  Where  was  she?  Where 
was  the  Riverside?  Where,  for  that  matter,  was  the 
roar  of  the  glittering  precinct  in  which  the  Splendor 
tossed  its  turrets  to  the  sky?  Here  were  dirty  and 
reeling  goblins ;  budding  trees  that  bowed  and  fainted ; 
a  stretch  of  empty  road  that  the  scudding  car  de 
voured.  Afar  was  a  house  that  instantly  approached 
and  as  suddenly  vanished.  Dimly  beyond  was  another. 

Cassy,  leaning  forward,  poked  at  the  emperor.  "I 
will  thank  you  to  tell  me  where  you  are  going.  Don't 
you  know  where  the  Splendor  is  ?" 

Back  at  her  he  mumbled,  but  what  she  could  not 
hear. 

"Stop  at  once,"  she  called. 

Easily,  without  a  quiver,  almost  within  its  own 
length,  the  car  drew  in  and  the  Caesar,  touching  his 
cap,  was  looking  at  her.  "Beg  pardon,  mem.  There 
was  a  note  for  you  in  the  box.  Mr.  Paliser  said " 

But  now  Cassy  had  it. 

Chere  demoiselle — though  I  do  not  know  why  I  call 
you  that,  except  that  it  sounds  less  perfunctory  than 
dear  Miss  Cara,  who,  I  hope  will  do  me  the  honour 
of  dining  in  the  country,  if  for  no  better  reason  than 
because  there  is  no  opera  to-night  and  I  am  her  obedient 
servant. 

M.  P.,  JR. 

Cassy  looked  up   from   it.     "Country!     He  says 

country.     What  country?     What  does  this  mean?" 

"The  Place,  mem.   Paliser  Place.   It's  not  far  now." 

Cassy  had  not  bargained  for  that.     Stories  of  girls 

decoyed,  drugged,  spirited  away,  never  heard  of  again, 


io8  THE   PALISER   CASE 

sprang  at  her.     Quite  as  quickly  she  dismissed  them. 
But,  being  human,  she  had  to  find  fault. 

"You  should  have  told  me  before.  That  will  do. 
Drive  on." 

She  sank  back.  The  car  leaped  and  she  smiled. 
Paliser  in  the  role  of  white-slaver!  Her  momentary 
alarm  was  now  a  mile  behind  her.  But  would  they 
be  alone  ?  Though,  after  all,  what  did  it  matter  ?  Yet 
in  Harlem  there  was  a  broken  old  man  who  would  not 
like  it.  And  the  basilica  investments!  If  she  had 
known  she  would  have  worn  the  black  rag.  But  they 
would  do  for  that  tiresome  Mrs.  Beamish.  As  yet 
she  had  not  decided  what  she  would  sing.  The  Caro 
nome  occurred  to  her.  Under  her  breath  she  began 
it  and  abruptly  desisted.  The  Dear  Name  suggested 
another. 

For  it  she  substituted  the  Ombra  leggiera.  In  its 
scatter  of  trills  that  mount,  as  birds  mount,  there  were 
no  evocations,  though  she  did  begin  wondering  again 
about  Mrs.  Beamish's  music-room.  If  it  were  not  too 
impossible  she  might  give  the  Ernani  involame.  But 
at  that  and  very  unintentionally  she  thought  of  Len 
nox  again. 

She  made  a  face  and  looked  through  the  window. 
As  usual  she  was  hungry.  The  car  now  was  bellow 
ing  through  opening  gates  which,  as  she  looked  back, 
a  man  in  brown  was  closing.  On  either  side  was  a 
high  stone  wall,  but  beyond,  as  she  looked  again,  was 
an  avenue  bordered  with  trees  and  farther  on  a  white 
house  with  projecting  wings  in  which  was  a  court, 
an  entrance  and,  above  and  about  the  latter,  a  pillared 
perron. 

From  the  entrance  she  could  see  a  man  in  livery 
hastening.  Behind  him,  a  man  in  black  appeared. 
The  car  stopped.  The  first  man  opened  the  door. 


THE   PALISER   CASE  109 

Cassy  got  out.  The  other  man  additionally  assisted 
by  looking  on  and  moving  aside.  Cassy  went  into  a 
hall  where  a  young  person  who  did  not  resemble  the 
Belle  Chocolatiere  but  whose  costume  suggested  her, 
diligently  approached. 

"Would  madame  care  to  go  upstairs?" 

No,  madame  would  not.  But  Cassy,  instinctively 
insolent  to  pretentionness,  was  very  simple  with  the 
simple.  "Thank  you.  Will  you  mind  taking  my  wrap? 
Thank  you  again." 

She  looked  about  the  hall.  Before  she  could  in 
ventory  it,  here  was  another  man.  "A  nice  trick  you 
played  on  me,"  Cassy  threw  at  him.  "I  was  half-way 
before  I  discovered  it.  The  orchids  reconciled  me. 
Thank  you  for  them.  Who  is  here?" 

Smiling,  deferential,  apparently  modest,  perfectly 
sent  out  in  perfectly  cut  evening  clothes,  Paliser  took 
her  hand.  "You  are  and,  incidentally,  I  am." 

Cassy  withdrew  her  hand.  "I  suppose  you  think 
you  are  a  host  in  yourself." 

"Merely  the  most  fortunate  of  mortals,"  replied 
Paliser,  who  could  be  eighteenth-century  when  he 
liked,  but  who  seldom  bothered  to  keep  it  up. 

Already  he  had  been  doing  a  little  inventorying  on 
his  own  account.  The  basilica  frock  did  not  say  much 
and  what  it  did  say  was  not  to  his  taste.  The  Sunday 
night  fantasy  he  much  preferred.  It  was  rowdy,  but  it 
was  artistic.  But  beauty  may  be  dishonoured,  it  can 
not  be  vulgarised.  Even  in  pseudo-Parisianisms  Cassy 
was  a  gem.  A  doubt  though,  one  that  had  already 
visited  him,  returned.  Was  the  game  worth  the  pos 
sible  scandal? 

But  now  Cassy  was  getting  back  at  him.  "To 
stand  about  with  the  most  fortunate  of  mortals  ought 


no  THE    PALISER   CASE 

to  be  a  shape  of  bliss.  As  it  happens,  I  would  rather 
sit." 

"Naturally.     Only,  worse  luck,  there  is  no  throne." 

Cassy  gave  it  to  him  again :  "There  is  a  court  fool, 
though.  Where  are  your  cap  and  bells  ?" 

"Not  on  you  at  any  rate." 

He  motioned  and  Cassy  passed  on  into  a  room  be 
yond  which  other  rooms  extended,  each  different,  but 
all  in  the  same  key,  a  monotone  attenuated  by  lustres 
and  the  atmosphere,  infinitely  relaxing,  which  wealth 
exhales. 

Cassy's  thin  nostrils  quivered.  Since  childhood,  it 
was  her  first  breath  of  anything  similar.  It  appeased 
and  disarmed  this  anarchist  who  was  also  an  autocrat. 

"Will  you  sit  here?" 

Paliser  was  drawing  a  chair.  The  table  before  it 
lacked  the  adjacent  severity.  On  it  were  dishes  of 
Sevres  and  of  gold.  Adjacently  were  three  men. 
Their  faces  were  white  and  sensual.  They  moved  as 
forms  move  in  a  dream. 

The  stories  of  girls  decoyed,  spirited  away,  never 
heard  of  again,  returned  to  Cassy.  She  had  put  the 
orchids  beside  her.  Her  flexible  mouth  framed  a 
smile. 

"You  know,  for  a  moment,  I  had  the  rare  emotion 
of  feeling  and  fearing  that  I  was  being  eloped  with." 

A  pop  interrupted.  She  turned  to  a  man  at  her 
elbow.  "Only  half  a  glass,  please,  and  fill  it  with 
water."  She  returned  to  Paliser,  who  was  opposite. 
"I  had  been  thinking  of  something.  I  had  not  noticed 
where  the  car  was  going;  and  all  of  a  sudden,  I  found 
myself  I  did  not  know  where.  Then,  houp!  It  got 
me." 

Paliser  helped  himself  to  a  clam.  "The  charm  of 
elopements  passed  with  the  post-chaise.  Then  they 


THE    PALISER    CASE  111 

had  the  dignity  of  danger  and  pistol  shots  through  the 
windows.  Nowadays  you  go  off  in  a  Pullman  and  re 
turn  as  prosaic  as  you  started." 

"Sometimes  even  more  so,"  Cassy  put  in. 

Paliser  helped  himself  to  another  clam.  "You  speak 
feelingly  and  that  is  only  right.  This  is  a  very  im 
portant  matter.  It  is  a  shame  that  romance  should 
have  passed  with  the  post-chaise.  Why  should  it  not 
revisit  us  in  the  motor?" 

Cassy  sipped  and  considered  it.  "There  ought  to  be 
d  law  on  the  subject." 

"There  is  one.  You  may  be  summoned  for  speed 
ing  and  get  your  name  in  the  papers." 

"Then  the  dignity  of  danger  remains." 

"But  not  in  clams.     Aren't  you  going  to  eat  any?" 

Cassy  laughed.  "I  had  some  yesterday  with  Ma 
Tamby.  They  did  not  seem  to  agree  with  her.  She 
became  very  noisy  about  a  Mrs.  Beamish.  Who  is 
she?" 

"Mrs.  Beamish?"  Paliser  repeated.  He  also  had 
forgotten.  But,  with  a  click,  memory  raised  a  latch. 
From  behind  it  the  lady  emerged.  "Oh,  she's  a  cousin 
of  mine." 

"Rather  distant,  I  should  fancy,"  said  Cassy,  who 
was  conscious  of  the  delay,  though  not  of  the  click. 
The  delay  she  had  noticed  without,  however,  divining 
the  cause.  But  how  could  she  possibly  imagine  that 
Mrs.  Beamish  had  been  evolved  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  providing  her  with  basilica  opportunities  ?  Yet  the 
fault,  if  fault  there  were,  resided  in  her  education. 
She  had  never  read  Eliphas  Levi.  She  did  not  know 
that  genii  can  be  evoked. 

"Well,  she  is  more  my  sister's  cousin  than  mine," 
Paliser  anxious  to  get  out  of  it,  threw  in.  "I  mean 
my  sister  has  a  more  cousinly  nature." 


112  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"I  did  not  know  you  had  a  sister/'  said  Cassy,  who 
not  only  did  not  know  but  did  not  care.  "Though, 
come  to  think  of  it,  a  sister  with  a  cousinly  nature 
must  be  so  gratifying.  Another  distant  relative, 
isn't  she?" 

"Very.     She  is  in  Petrograd." 

That  too  was  evocative.  Cassy  began  talking  about 
the  biggest  cropper  that  history  has  beheld — a  tsar 
tossed  from  the  saddle  to  Siberia! 

Paliser,  glad  to  be  rid  of  Mrs.  Beamish,  took  it  up. 
The  sordid  story  of  the  Russian  chief  of  staff,  bought 
by  Hindenburg  and  shot  by  the  Grand-Duke  Nicholas, 
whom  the  tsar  then  exiled,  was  told  once  more. 

"What  else  could  you  expect  of  that  Hun?"  Paliser 
concluded. 

"A  Hun!"  Cassy  exclaimed.  "Why  he  is  a  Ro 
manov." 

"No  more  than  you  are,"  Paliser  replied.  "The  last 
of  the  Romanovs  married  Catherine  the  Greater. 
There  the  breed  ended.  Paul,  who  followed  and  who 
married  a  German  drab,  was  Catherine's  son  but  not 
her  husband's.  The  rest  of  the  litter,  down  to  the 
father  of  the  recent  incumbent,  all  married  German 
drabs.  The  father  of  the  ex-tsar  married  a  Dane. 
The  fellow  is  therefore  one-eighth  Dane  and  seven- 
eighths  Hun.  Totally  apart  from  which,  a  grocer  who 
knew  his  business  would  not  have  had  him  for  clerk. 
His  family  knew  that  and,  before  he  had  time  to  be 
tsar,  tried  to  poison  him.  To  the  misfortune,  not  of 
Russia  merely,  but  of  Christendom,  they  failed.  If 
they  had  succeeded  the  eastern  front  would  be  secure. 
As  for  his  wife,  I  saw  her  once.  It  was  in  the  Winter 
Palace  which,  before  it  was  sacked,  was  a  palace. 
Since  the  palace  of  the  Caliphs  of  Cordova  crumbled, 


THE    PALISER   CASE  113 

there  has  never  been  a  palace  like  it.  It  outshone 
them  all.  Well,  that  woman  tarnished  it." 

Meanwhile  dishes  were  brought  and  removed  by 
servants,  wooden-faced,  yet  with  ears  alert.  The  sub 
ject  of  elopements  had  seemed  promising,  but  it  led  to 
nothing.  At  their  own  table,  talk  was  gayer. 

Cassy  enjoyed  the  food,  the  diluted  wine,  Paliser's 
facile  touch.  He  appeared  to  know  a  lot  and  she  sur 
prised  herself  by  so  telling  him.  "I  wish  I  did,"  she 
added.  "I  am  ignorant  as  a  carp." 

"You  know  how  to  charm,"  he  replied.  But,  see 
ing  her  stiffen,  he  resumed,  "With  your  voice.  That  is 
enough.  It  would  be  a  mistake  for  you  to  be  versatile. 
Versatility  is  for  the  amateur.  The  artist  is  a  flower, 
never  a  bouquet." 

It  was  decently  said.  In  the  decency  of  it,  the  agree 
able  insult  which  a  compliment  usually  is  was  so 
chastened  that  Cassy  flushed  and  felt  that  she  had. 
It  annoyed  her,  and  she  attributed  it  to  the  wine. 

It  was  not  the  wine.  Other  influences  were  at  work 
on  this  girl,  born  to  a  forsaken  purple  and  whose  soul 
was  homesick  for  it.  But  purple  is  perhaps  pictur 
esque.  It  was  not  that  for  which  her  soul  sighed,  but 
the  dream  that  hides  behind  it,  the  dream  of  going 
about  and  giving  money  away.  To  her  the  dream  had 
been  the  dream  of  a  dream,  realisable  only  on  the  top 
rungs  of  the  operatic  ladder,  which,  later,  she  felt  she 
was  not  destined  to  scale.  None  the  less  there  are 
dreams  that  do  come  true,  though  usually,  beforehand, 
there  is  a  desert  to  cross. 

"I  wonder  if  I  might  have  a  cavatina?"  Paliser 
asked,  rising  and  moving  to  her. 

Cassy  shrugged.  I  have  to  pay  for  my  dinner,  she 
thought,  but  she  too  got  up. 

Preceding  her,  he  led  the  way  to  a  room  of  which 


114  THE    PALISER   CASE 

the  floor,  inlaid  and  waxed,  was  rugless.  The  windows 
were  not  curtained,  they  were  shuttered.  In  the  cen 
tre  was  a  grand  and  a  bench.  Afar,  at  the  other  end, 
masking  a  door,  was  a  portiere,  the  colour  of  hyacinth. 
Near  it,  were  two  unupholstered  chairs ;  one,  white ;  the 
other,  black.  Save  for  these,  save  too  for  a  succes 
sion  of  mirrors  and  of  lights,  the  room  was  bare. 
In  addition,  it  was  spacious,  a  long  oblong,  ceiled  high 
with  light  frescoes,  the  proper  aviary  for  a  song-bird. 

Cassy  curtsied  to  it.  At  table  she  had  not  wanted 
to  sing.  The  mere  sight  of  this  room  inspired. 

Paliser  opened  the  piano  and,  seating  himself,  ran 
his  long  thin  fingers  over  the  keys.  He  was  heating 
them,  preluding  a  score,  passing  from  it  to  another. 
Presently  he  looked  up;  she  nodded  and  the  Ah,  non 
glunge  floated  from  her. 

"Brava!"  Paliser  muttered  as  the  final  trill  drifted 
away.  Again  he  looked  up.  "You  will  be  a  very 
great  artist." 

He  did  not  mean  it.  He  judged  her  voice  colour 
ful  but  lacking  in  carriage.  ^ 

Cassy,  leaning  forward,  struck  the  keys,  giving  him 
the  note  and  again  she  sang,  this  time  the  Libiamo, 
which,  old  as  the  hills,  claptrap,  utterly  detestable,  none 
the  less  served  to  display  the  bravura  quality  of  her 
voice. 

When  it  passed,  Paliser  sprang  up,  faced  her.  "Open 
your  mouth !  There !  Wide !" 

Cassy,  familiar  with  the  ritual,  obeyed.  Paliser 
peered  into  the  strawberry  of  her  throat.  It  was  deep 
as  a  well  and  he  moved  back. 

"You  have  the  organ  but  you  do  not  know  how  to 
use  it.  You  don't  know  how  to  breathe." 

Cassy  forgot  that  he  was  young,  that  she  was,  that 
in  the  great  room  in  the  great  house  they  were  alone. 


THE   PALISER   CASE  115 

Through  the  shutters  came  the  smell  of  lilacs,  the 
sorceries  of  spring.  In  the  sexlessness  of  art  these 
things  were  unnoticed.  For  the  first  time  she  liked 
him.  It  was  his  frankness  that  drew  her,  though  if 
he  had  been  a  frank  old  woman  she  would  have  liked 
him  as  well. 

"My  father  says  that.  He  says  it  is  Ma  Tamby's 
fault.  He  can't  bear  her." 

For  a  while  they  discussed  it.  Paliser  maintaining 
that  were  it  not  for  the  war  she  ought  to  go  to  Paris 
and  Cassy  asserting,  though  without  conviction,  that 
the  specialty  of  the  Conservatoire  consisted  in  dried 
fruit. 

Finally  she  said :  "It  must  be  late.  I  have  a  wrap 
somewhere  and  oh !  my  orchids." 

The  young  person  was  summoned.  The  wrap  was 
recovered,  the  orchids  reappeared. 

Paliser,  helping  Cassy  with  the  wrap,  said :  "Shall 
I  see  it  here  again?"  He  knew  he  would  but  he 
thought  it  civil  to  ask. 

Cassy  too  had  her  thoughts.  The  freedom  with 
which,  during  the  ham-and-eggs  episode,  his  eyes  had 
investigated  her,  where  was  it?  On  Sunday  he  had 
bored  her  to  tears.  That  also  had  gone.  During  the 
past  hour  or  two  he  had  shown  himself  reasonably  in 
telligent,  unpresuming,  without  offensiveness  of  any 
kind.  With  a  movement  of  the  hand  she  lifted  the 
wrap  at  her  neck.  "Here?" 

It  occurred  to  her  that  she  did  not  know  where  the 
polished  and  inlaid  floor  on  which  she  stood  was 
located.  Nor  did  she  particularly  care.  Besides  if 
her  geography  were  vague,  the  floor  was  pleasant,  a  bit 
slippery  perhaps,  though  just  how  slippery  she  was  yet 
to  learn. 


ii6  THE   PALISER   CASE 

"Yes.  The  day  after  to-morrow.  Why  not?  I 
would  like  to  run  over  a  score  or  two  with  you." 

"Good  heavens !  You  are  not  composing  an  opera, 
are  you?" 

Paliser  laughed.  "I  want  to  lead  you  away  from 
painted  mush  into  the  arms  of " 

"Not  Strauss?"  Cassy  interrupted.  "Art  does  not 
recognise  frontiers  but  the  Huns  do  not  either  and 
I  will  not  recognise  a  Hun.  Is  the  car  at  the  door?" 

He  saw  her  out  and  away,  and  reentering  the  house 
went  to  a  room  in  the  wing.  It  was  lined  with  book 
cases  that  you  did  not  have  to  break  your  back  to 
examine.  They  began  four  feet  from  the  floor  and 
ended  two  feet  higher.  The  room  contained  other 
objects  of  interest. 

From  among  the  latter,  Paliser  helped  himself  to  a 
brandy  and  soda.  It  had  been  dry  work.  The  drink 
refreshed  him.  It  stimulated  too.  Also  it  suggested. 
He  put  the  glass  down  and  lightly  swore  at  it. 

"Damn  Benny !     He  has  only  one  thumb." 

For  a  moment  he  eyed  the  glass.  Then  taking  from 
a  shelf  Gautier's  very  spiritual  account  of  the  de  Mau- 
pin,  he  eyed  that.  Not  for  long  though.  He  put  it 
back.  He  did  not  want  to  read.  He  did  not  want  to 
drink.  There  were  several  things  that  he  did  not  want. 
In  particular  he  did  not  want  to  be  alone. 

He  rang,  ordered  out  a  car  and  went  sailing  in  town, 
to  a  brownstone  front  where  you  could  lose  as  much 
money  as  you  liked  and  not  in  solitude  either.  On 
the  way,  the  thought  of  the  damned  and  thumbless 
Benny  accompanied  him. 


XV 

A"pHROUGH  the  inflated  proprieties  of  social  New 
-••  York,  Paliser's  father  had  driven  four-in-hand, 
and  at  a  pace  so  klinking  that  social  New  York  cut  him 
dead.  A  lot  he  cared  I  The  high-steppers  in  their  showy 
harness  flung  along  as  brazenly  as  before.  He  did  not 
care.  He  had  learned  to  since.  Age  is  instructive.  It 
teaches  that  though  a  man  defy  the  world,  he  cannot 
ignore  it.  But  tastes  are  inheritable.  Monty  Paliser 
came  in  for  a  few,  but  not  for  the  four-in-hand.  Less 
vigorous  than  his  father,  though  perhaps  more  subtle, 
he  preferred  the  tandem. 

In  preparation  for  one  that  he  had  in  view,  he  looked 
in,  not  at  a  mart,  but  at  a  shrine. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  succeeding  Cassy's  visit 
to  his  slippery  floor.  The  day  was  radiant,  a  day  not 
of  spring,  or  of  summer,  but  of  both.  Above  was  a 
sky  of  silk  wadded  with  films  of  white  cotton.  From 
below  there  ascended  a  metallic  roar,  an  odour  of 
gasoline — the  litanies  and  incense  of  the  temple,  Se 
mitic  and  Lampsacene,  that  New  York  long  since  be 
came. 

Lampsacus  worshipped  a  very  great  god  and  wor 
shipped  him  uniquely.  New  York,  more  devout  and 
less  narrow,  has  worshipped  him  also  and  has  knelt 
too  to  a  god  almost  as  great.  Their  combined  rituals 
have  exalted  the  temple  into  a  department-store  where 
the  pilgrim  obtains  anything  he  can  pay  for,  which  is 

"7 


ii8  THE   PALISER   CASE 

certainly  a  privilege.  Youth,  beauty,  virtue,  even 
smiles,  even  graciousness,  Priapus  and  Mammon  be 
stow  on  the  faithful  that  garland  the  altars  with  cash. 

In  Park  Avenue,  on  this  radiant  afternoon,  Mrs. 
Austen  and  Paliser  were  occupied  with  their  devotions. 
Mrs.  Austen  was  priestess  and  Paliser  was  saying  his 
prayers ;  that  is,  he  was  jingling  his  money,  not  audibly, 
but  none  the  less  potently  in  the  lady's  uplifted  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  the  lady,  who  as  usual  did  not  mean  it. 
"It  is  too  bad.  Margaret,  the  dear  child,  is  so  inex 
perienced  that  I  feel  that  I  must  blame  myself.  I  have 
kept  from  her — how  shall  I  put  it?  Well,  everything, 
and  when  she  learned  about  this,  I  could  not  tell  her 
that  it  was  all  very  usual.  It  would  have  offended 
her  modesty  too  much." 

Pausing,  Mrs.  Austen  smiled  her  temple  smile.  "I 
could  not  tell  her,  as  somebody  expressed  it,  that  act 
resses  happen  in  the  best  of  families,  but  I  left  her  to 
decide  whether  she  cared  to  have  them  happen  in  her 
menage." 

The  priestess,  looking  to  the  north  and  south,  re 
sumed  :  "It  might  have  been  different  if  she  had  been 
older,  more  experienced  and  had  really  cared  for  him. 
But  how  could  she  care?  The  child's  nature  is  dor 
mant.  She  does  not  know  what  love  is.  He  is  very 
nice,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  him,  not  one, 
but  a  lamp-post  would  be  quite  as  capable  of  arousing 
her  affection.  She  accepted  him,  I  grant  you  that  and 
you  may  well  ask  why.  I  know  I  asked  myself  the 
same  thing,  until  I  remembered  that  Mr.  Austen  of 
fered  to  take  me  to  Niagara  Falls  and  I  married  him 
just  to  go  there.  At  the  time  I  was  a  mere  chit  and 
Margaret  is  little  more.  Now,  I  am  not,  I  hope,  cen 
sorious  and  I  do  not  say  that  she  had  a  lucky  escape, 


THE    PALISER   CASE  119 

but  I  can  say  she  thinks  so.  It  was  such  a  relief  that 
it  gave  her  neuralgia.  But  the  child  will  be  up  and 
about  in  no  time  and  then  you  must  come  and  dine. 
You  got  my  note?" 

Paliser  stifled  a  yawn.  The  priestess  was,  he  knew, 
entirely  willing  to  deliver  whatever  he  wanted  at 
temple  rates.  But  he  knew,  too,  there  were  forms  and 
ceremonies  to  be  observed.  Being  bored  was  one  of 
them. 

At  another  portal  he  has  been  obliged  to  go  through 
the  forms  with  Carlotta  Tamburini.  She  also  had 
wearied  him,  though  less  infernally  than  Mrs.  Austen, 
and  of  the  two  he  preferred  her.  The  ex-diva  was 
certainly  canaille,  but  her  paw  was  open  and  ready, 
whereas  this  woman's  palm,  while  quite  as  itching, 
was  delicately  withheld.  Their  gods  were  identical. 
It  was  the  shrines  that  differed.  The  one  at  which 
the  Tamburini  presided  was  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  The 
Austen's  was  bedecked  like  a  girl  on  her  wedding-day. 
Behind  each  Priapus  leered.  Above  both  was  the  shin 
ing  face  of  Mammon. 

In  the  present  rites,  that  which  wearied  Paliser  was 
the  recital  of  the  reason  of  the  broken  engagement. 
It  was  broken,  that  was  the  end  of  it,  an  end  which,  in 
ordinary  circumstances,  he  would  have  regretted. 
Ordinarily  it  would  have  made  the  running  too  easy. 
The  hurdles  were  gone.  There  were  no  sticks,  no 
fences.  It  would  not  even  have  been  a  race,  just  a 
canter.  The  goal  remained  but  the  sporting  chance 
of  beating  Lennox  to  it  would  have  departed.  That 
is  the  manner  in  which  ordinarily  he  would  have  re 
garded  it.  But  the  war,  that  was  to  change  us  all,  al 
ready  had  changed  his  views.  The  draft  act  had  not 
then  been  passed,  yet  it  was  realised  that  some  such 


120  THE    PALISER   CASE 

act  would  be  passed,  and  generally  it  was  assumed 
that  among  the  exempt  would  be  men  with  wives  de 
pendent  on  them  and  cogently  he  had  reflected  that 
if  he  married  that  would  be  his  case  precisely.  At 
the  same  time  he  could  not  take  a  possible  bride  by  the 
scruff  of  the  neck  and  drag  her  off  to  a  clergyman. 
Though  it  be  to  save  your  hide,  such  things  are  not 
done.  Even  in  war-time  there  are  wearisome  pre 
liminaries  and  these  preliminaries,  which  a  broken  en 
gagement  abridged,  the  neuralgia  of  a  possible  bride 
prolonged.  That  was  distinctly  annoying  and  a  mo 
ment  later,  when  he  had  the  chance,  he  vented  the  an 
noyance  on  Lennox. 

"You  got  my  note?"  Mrs.  Austen  was  asking. 

"Yes/'  he  replied,  "and  I  will  come  with  pleasure. 
Meanwhile,  if  my  sympathy  is  not  indiscreet,  please 
convey  it  to  your  daughter."  The  kick  followed. 
"Though,  to  be  sure,  Lennox  is  a  loose  fish." 

"He  is  ?"  Mrs.  Austen  unguardedly  exclaimed.  Not 
for  a  moment  had  she  suspected  it  and,  in  her  surprise, 
her  esteem  for  him  jumped.  Good  heavens!  she 
thought.  How  I  have  maligned  him! 

In  the  exclamation  and  the  expression  which  her 
eyes  took  on,  Paliser  divined  some  mental  somersault, 
divined  too  that  behind  it  was  something  obscure, 
something  that  she  was  keeping  back.  Warily  he 
backed. 

"Oh,  as  for  that,  loose  fish  may  mean  anything.  It 
is  a  term  that  has  been  applied  to  me  and  I  dare  say 
very  correctly.  If  I  did  not  live  like  a  monk,  I  should 
be  jailed  for  my  sins." 

He  is  his  father  all  over  again,  Mrs.  Austen  cheer 
fully  reflected  and  absently  asked:  "How  is  he?" 

"Lennox?    I  haven't  an  idea." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  121 

"I  mean  your  father." 

"In  a  great  hurry,  thank  you.  The  war  has  gone 
to  his  head." 

"At  his  age  ?     Surely " 

"He  wants  me  to  go,"  said  Paliser,  who  had  no  in 
tention  of  it  whatever  and  whom  subsequent  events 
completely  exempted.  "He  is  in  a  hurry  for  me  to 
enlist  and  in  a  greater  hurry  to  have  me  marry." 

Austerely,  this  pleasant  woman  grabbed  it.  "It  is 
your  duty!" 

That  was  too  much  for  Paliser,  who,  knowing  as 
well  as  she  did  what  she  was  driving  at,  wanted  to 
laugh.  Like  the  yawn,  he  suppressed  it. 

The  priestess's  austerity  faded.  A  very  fair  mimic 
of  exaltation  replaced  it.  "Whoever  she  is,  how  proud 
she  will  be !  A  war-bride !" 

But  Paliser,  who  had  his  fill,  was  rising  and, 
abandoning  histrionics,  she  resumed :  "The  24th  at 
eight;  don't  forget!"  Then  as  he  passed  from  the 
portal,  the  priestess  lifted  her  hands.  "What  a  fish! 
Fast  or  loose,  what  a  fish !"  , 

Above  her  Mammon  glowed,  behind  her  leered 
Priapus. 

Through  the  sunny  streets,  Paliser  drove  to  the 
Athenaeum,  where  everybody  was  talking  war.  The 
general  consensus  of  ignorance  was  quite  normal. 

Lennox,  seated  with  Jones  at  a  window,  was  sum 
marising  his  own  point  of  view.  "In  a  day  or  two  I 
shall  run  down  to  Mineola.  Perhaps  they  will  take  me 
on  at  the  aviation  field.  Anyway  I  can  try." 

Jones  crossed  himself.  He  is  signing  his  death- 
warrant,  he  thought.  But  he  said :  "Take  you, 
Icarus.  They  will  fly  away  with  you.  You  will  be 
come  a  cavalier  of  the  clouds,  a  toreador  of  the  aerial 


,122  THE    PALISER    CASE 

arena,  an  archangel  soaring  among  the  Eolian  melo 
dies  of  shrapnel.  I  envy,  I  applaud,  but  I  cannot  emu 
late.  The  upper  circles  are  reserved  for  youth  and 
over  musty  tomes  I  have  squandered  mine.  I  am 
thirty-two  by  the  clock  and  I  should  hie  me  to  the 
grave-digger  that  he  may  take  my  measure.  And  yet 
if  I  could — if  I  could! — I  would  like  to  be  one  of  the 
liaison  chaps  and  fall  if  I  must  in  a  shroud  of  white 
swords." 

Sombrely  Lennox  considered  his  friend.  "Your 
shroud  of  white  swords  is  ridiculous." 

Jones  agreed  with  him.  To  change  the  subject,  he 
rattled  a  paper.  "Have  you  seen  this?  There  is  an 
account  here  of  a  man  who  shot  his  girl.  He  thought 
her  untrue.  Probably  she  was." 

"Reason  enough  then,"  said  Lennox,  who  latterly 
had  become  very  murderous. 

"I  wonder!  Anyway,  though  the  paper  does  not 
say  so,  that  was  not  his  reason.  The  poor  devil  killed 
her  not  because  she  had  been  untrue,  but  because  he 
loved  her.  He  killed  the  thing  he  loved  the  best  out  of 
sheer  affection.  Unfortunately,  for  his  virtues,  he 
loved  her  innocently,  ignorantly,  as  most  men  do  love, 
without  any  idea  that  the  one  affection  worth  giving  is 
a  love  that  nothing  can  alter,  a  love  that  can  not  only 
forgive  but  console." 

"Is  that  what  you  call  originality?"  Lennox  severely 
enquired.  "If  so,  I  have  never  run  across  any  of  it  in 
your  books." 

"Heaven  forbid  that  you  should,  dear  boy.  I  live 
by  the  sweat  of  my  pen.  Originality  never  has,  and 
never  will  make  a  best-seller." 

It  was  while  Jones  was  airing  these  platitudes  that 
Paliser  entered  the  room.  He  approached  the  two 


THE    PALISER   CASE  123 

men.  Lennox  at  once  got  up,  turned  his  back,  marched 
away. 

A  few  days  later,  Jones,  in  reviewing  the  incident, 
wondered  whether  Lennox  could,  even  then,  have  sus 
pected.  But,  at  the  moment,  in  apology  for  him,  he 
merely  lied. 

"I  frightened  him  off  with  shop-talk." 

Paliser  took  the  vacant  seat.  "What  are  you  writ- 
ing?" 

"Cheques.  There  is  nothing  simpler  and,  except 
cash,  nothing  so  easily  understood.  To  keep  my  hand 
in  I  will  write  one  now." 

Then  Jones  too  got  up.  Paliser,  to  whom  solitude 
was  always  irksome,  found  himself  alone.  But  his 
solitude  was  not  prolonged.  A  man  joined  him.  An 
other  followed.  Presently  there  was  a  group. 

From  the  table  where  Jones  had  gone,  the  inkbeast 
saw  and  seeing  thought :  Empires  may  totter,  nations 
fall.  The  face  of  the  earth  will  be  changed.  But 
the  toady  endureth  forever. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

T  T  was  another  perfect  day,  a  forenoon  after  Vero- 
•*•  nese,  a  day  of  which  the  charm  was  heightened  by 
the  witcheries  that  Harlem  knows — the  shouted  temp 
tations  of  push-carts;  the  pastimes  of  children,  so 
noisy,  so  dirty,  so  dear!  the  engaging  conversation  of 
German  ladies;  the  ambient  odour  of  cabbage  and  the 
household  linen  fluttering  gaily  on  the  roofs.  It  was 
rapturous.  Just  beyond  was  a  sewer — the  Hudson. 
But  above  was  the  turquoise  of  the  mid- April  day. 

Cassy  went  by  and  on,  turned  a  corner,  crossed  the 
street,  descended  into  a  cave,  smiled  sweetly  at  a  man 
who  was  closing  a  door  and  who,  seeing  that  smile, 
smiled  at  it,  smiled  wantonly,  held  the  door  open,  yet, 
noting  then  but  an  arid  blankness  where  her  smile  had 
been,  banged  the  door  and  shouted  fiercely :  "Hundred- 
thirty-seven-street-next." 

The  train  crashed  on.  Cassy,  her  nose  in  the  air, 
assumed  a  barbed-wire  attitude,  her  usual  defensive 
against  the  conjecturing  eyes  of  old  men  and  the 
Hello,  Kid !  glances  of  New  York's  subtle  youth.  This 
attitude,  which  enabled  her  to  ignore  everything  and 
everybody,  enabled  her  also  to  think  of  what  she  liked, 
or  of  what  she  did  not  like,  a  circumstance  that  hap 
pened  to  her  then  and  which  was  induced  by  her  father. 

That  day  he  had  been  terrible.  The  tragedies  of 
the  fated  Atrides,  what  were  they  to  his  ?  A  lamenta 
tion  longer  than  Jeremiah's  followed.  His  arm,  his 

124 


THE    PALISER    CASE  125 

skill,  his  art,  his  strength,  his  money,  everything,  for 
all  he  knew  even  his  daughter,  was  taken  from  him. 
How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long!  And  presto!  da  capo, 
all  over  and  afresh  she  had  it. 

Then,  shaking  a  ringer,  he  cried :  "Where  were  you 
last  night?" 

Cassy,  reduced  to  tears,  exclaimed  at  him.  "Why 
here.  Where  else?" 

Darkly  he  eyed  her.  "Yes,  but  earlier,  before  you 
came  in,  where  were  you?" 

Cassy  could  not  help  it,  she  shook.  A  moment  be 
fore  she  had  been  crying  whole-heartedly,  associating 
herself,  as  a  daughter  may,  in  her  father's  woe.  But 
that  was  too  much.  With  the  tears  still  in  her  eyes, 
she  laughed.  "Gracious  goodness!  You  don't  take 
me  for  a  fly-by-night?" 

The  noble  marquis,  who  had  been  standing,  sat 
down.  Before  him,  on  the  ginger  of  the  wall,  hung 
the  portrait  of  the  gorgeous  swashbuckler.  Behind 
the  latter  were  portraits,  dim,  remote,  visionary,  of 
other  progenitors  who  probably  never  existed.  But  he 
was  convinced  that  they  had,  convinced  that  always, 
sword  in  hand,  they  had  upheld  the  honour  of  the 
Casa-Evora.  No,  surely,  his  daughter  had  not  for 
feited  that.  No,  certainly,  he  did  not  suspect  her. 
But  there  was  much  that  he  did  not  understand.  The 
misery  of  the  mystery  of  things  overcame  him.  He 
wept  noisily. 

Cassy,  who  had  been  seated,  stood  up.  She  had  on 
her  rowdy  frock.  She  also  had  on  a  hat — if  you  can 
call  a  tam-o'-shanter  a  hat.  Therewith  were  white 
gloves  which  she  had  got  at  the  basilica  and  which  as 
yet  were  free  from  benzine.  Her  father  had  distressed 
her  inhumanly,  but  she  had  survived  it,  as  youth  sur- 


126  THE   PALISER   CASE 

vives  anything,  and  she  looked  then,  not  tear-stained  in 
the  least,  but,  as  usual,  very  handsome. 

Bending  forward,  she  touched  him.  "There,  you 
dear  old  thing,  don't  take  on  so.  I  have  been  planning 
something  fat  for  you.  Everything  will  come  out 
right.  Just  wait  and  see1 — and  when  you're  hungry, 
there's  some  nice  cold  veal  in  the  kitchy." 

But  though  in  the  kitchen  there  was  cold  veal,  which 
it  were  perhaps  poetic  to  describe  as  nice,  yet  even 
the  poetry  of  that  was  exceeded  by  the  poetry  of  the 
plan.  Cassy  had  planned  nothing  lean  or  fat,  nothing 
whatever.  She  had  spoken  as  a  little  mother  may, 
in  an  effort  to  console,  though  perhaps  prompted  sub 
consciously  by  the  inscrutable  possibilities  of  life.  Any 
thing  may  happen.  Already  on  the  stage  of  which 
destiny  is  the  scene-shifter,  the  fates,  in  their  eternal 
role  of  call-boy,  were  summoning  the  actors  to  the 
drama  in  which  the  leading  role  was  hers  and  on 
which  the  curtain  was  about  to  rise. 

Her  father,  comforted  by  the  imaginary,  looked 
up.  She  had  gone.  From  the  sling  he  took  his  arm. 
The  elbow  was  stiff,  though  less  stiff  than  it  had  been. 
Moreover  the  wrist  moved  readily  and  the  fingers 
were  as  flexible  as  before.  Consoled  by  that,  com 
forted  already,  he  shuffled  into  the  kitchen  and  con 
sumed  the  cold  veal. 

Now,  in  the  crashing  car,  Cassy's  thoughts  went 
forward  and  back.  Her  father's  question,  that  had 
succeeded  in  being  both  pointed  and  pointless,  returned. 
She  smiled  at  it.  It  would  take  another  Don  Juan 
than  Mozart's  to  entice  me,  she  serenely  reflected. 
Yet,  after  all,  would  he  have  to  be  so  remarkable?  At 
any  rate  he  would  have  to  be  fancy  free  and  not  en- 


THE    PALISER    CASE  127 

gaged  as  was  a  certain  person  who  had  not  so  much 
as  said  Boo! 

Cassy  coloured.  Always  corsetless,  she  was  not 
straight-laced.  Given  the  attraction  and  with  it  the 
incentive,  and  that  tam-o'-shanter  might  have  gone 
flying  over  the  windmill.  The  tarn  was  very  safe. 
There  was  no  incentive  and,  though  there  was  no 
moral  corset  either,  she  was  temperamentally  unable 
to  go  poaching  on  another's  preserves.  Barring 
the  chimerical,  that  any  girl  may  consider  and  most 
girls  do,  she  was  straight  as  a  string.  A  shabby  old 
man  had  no  need  to  ask. 

"Seventy-second !"  The  trainman  bawled  unmolli- 
fiably  at  her. 

Cassy  left  a  certain  person  there.  Into  her  thoughts 
another  man  had  hopped.  She  surveyed  him.  He 
was  good-looking.  He  was  rich.  These  attributes 
said  nothing.  A  beautiful  male — always  an  anomaly 
— never  attracts  a  beautiful  woman.  That  other 
anomaly,  a  man  of  inherited  wealth,  is  disgusting  to 
the  anarchist.  Cassy  was  a  beauty  and  an  anarchist. 
She  was  also  an  aristocrat.  The  tattered  portieres  of 
the  House  of  Casa-Evora,  the  bedrabbled  robes  of  the 
marquisate,  all  that  was  ridiculous  to  her.  She  was 
an  aristocrat  none  the  less.  She  had  a  high  disdain 
for  low  things.  In  the  kitchen,  which  she  called  the 
kitchy,  she  bent  her  back  but  not  her  head.  Her 
head  was  unbowed.  She  sullied  her  hands  but  not 
her  conscience.  A  dirty  act  she  could  net  perform. 
Aristocrat  and  anarchist,  she  was  also  an  artist.  With 
simple  things  and  simple  people,  she  was  simple  as 
you  please.  Stupidity  and  pretentiousness  enraged 
her.  The  philistine  and  the  ignoble  she  loathed. 

Now,  through  the  windows  of  her  soul,  she  sur- 


128  THE    PALISER    CASE 

veyed  him.  His  looks,  his  money,  said  nothing.  On 
the  other  hand  there  was  about  him  an  aroma  that 
appealed.  The  aroma  was  not  the  odour  that  local 
society  exhales.  At  that  Cassy's  nose  was  in  the  air. 
A  lot  of  nobodies  occupied  with  nothing — and  talk 
ing  about  it!  Such  was  her  opinion  of  the  gilded 
gang,  an  opinion  which  Paliser — to  do  him  the  jus 
tice  that  the  historian  should — would  have  had  put  to 
music  and  arranged  for  trumpets.  It  was  not  that, 
therefore.  The  aroma  was  more  fetching.  The  man 
talked  her  language,  liked  what  she  liked,  never  pre 
sumed.  In  considering  these  factors,  she  considered 
her  gloves.  Thank  God,  they  did  not  smell  of  ben 
zine! 

"Grand  Central!" 

Cassy,  abandoning  Paliser  there,  went  on  to  Fifth 
Avenue,  where,  with  the  protection  of  cross-town  traf 
fic,  she  attempted  to  get  to  the  other  side.  But  half 
way,  she  saw,  or  thought  she  saw,  the  young  woman 
to  whom  a  certain  person  was  engaged.  She  turned 
to  look,  backed  into  the  traffic-sign  and  put  it  in  mo 
tion.  Instantly  motors  were  careering  at  each  other. 
Instantly  a  purple  policeman  grown  suddenly  black, 
was  smitten  with  St.  Vitus. 

Dancing  and  bellowing  as  he  danced,  he  righted 
the  sign  and  swore  at  Cassy,  who,  for  added  outrage, 
had  flung  herself  at  him  and  was  smiling  sweetly  in 
his  swollen  face.  About  them  the  torrent  poured. 
Then  all  at  once,  in  a  riot  that  afterwards  seemed  to 
her  phantasmagoric,  the  policeman  raised  a  forefinger 
in  salute.  From  the  maelstrom  she  was  hoisted  bodily 
into  a  car.  Somebody,  the  policeman  probably,  was 
boosting  her  from  behind.  Never  had  she  suffered 


THE    PALISER    CASE  129 

such  indignities!  To  accentuate  them,  somebody  else 
was  shouting  in  her  face. 

"I've  saved  your  life,  you'll  have  to  marry  me." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  Cassy,  horribly  ruffled,  exclaimed 
at  Paliser,  who  had  the  impudence  to  laugh.  She 
smoothed  the  smock,  patted  the  hat,  passed  a  gloved 
hand  over  her  nose. 

"You're  all  there,"  Paliser,  amused  by  the  mimic, 
was  telling  her.  "What  is  more,  one  pick-me-up  de 
serves  another." 

With  his  stick,  he  poked  at  the  mechanician,  ges 
tured  with  it,  indicating  a  harbour. 

The  car  veered  and  stopped  at  a  restaurant  that 
had  formerly  resided  in  Fourteenth  Street,  but  which 
had  moved,  as  the  heart  of  Manhattan  moved,  and 
was  then  thinking  of  moving  again. 

In  the  entrance  were  Cantillon  and  Ogston,  agree 
able  young  men,  who  stood  aside  for  Cassy,  raised 
their  hats  at  Paliser,  nudging  each  other  with  un 
fathomable  good-fellowship. 

"A  peach!" 

"No,  a  pair!" 

Their  pleasantries  were  lost.  Cassy  and  Paliser 
moved  on  and  in  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  room,  crowded 
as  usual  on  this  high  noon.  But  what  are  head-wait 
ers  for?  Promptly  there  was  a  table,  one  not  too 
near  the  orchestra  and  yet  which  gave  on  the  street. 

"What  would  you  dislike  the  least?"  Paliser  from 
over  a  bill-of-fare  inquired.  He  had  brought  his  hat 
and  stick  with  him  and,  in  spite  of  a  waiter's  best 
efforts,  had  put  both  on  the  floor. 

I  am  not  fit  to  be  seen,  thought  Cassy,  looking  about 
at  two  and  three  hundred  dollar  frocks  and  at  blouses 
that  were  almost  as  cheap. 


130  THE    PALISER   CASE 

Paliser,  turning  to  the  waiter,  translated  passages 
from  the  menu.  "Surprised  tomatoes,  cocottish  eggs, 
supreme  on  a  sofa,  ice  Aurora  Borealis.  And  a 
baked  potato."  He  turned  to  Cassy.  "Barring  the 
ice,  a  baked  potato  is  the  only  thing  in  which  they 
can't  stick  grease." 

"Et  comme  vin,  monsieur?"  enquired  the  waiter 
who  ought  to  have  been  at  the  front. 

"Aqua  pura.  But  probably  you  have  not  got  it. 
Celestial  Vichy,  then."  He  looked  again  at  Cassy. 
"What  else  might  displease  your  ladyship?" 

"Do  stop  talking  like  a  low  comedian,"  Cassy  vexa- 
tiously  retorted.  "If  you  had  not  used  force  I  would 
not  be  here.  I  could  not  make  a  row  at  the  door." 

"No,  one  scene  on  Fifth  Avenue  is  enough  for  one 
day." 

"I  should  say  so  and  it  was  you  who  made  it.  I 
was  going  quietly  about  my  business  when  I  was  der- 
ricked  into  your  car." 

"Not  at  all.  You  threw  yourself  at  my  head.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  me,  the  policeman  would  have 
marched  you  off  to  prison." 

Cassy  laughed.  "The  dear  man !  He  knew  I  would 
be  worse  off  with  you." 

"Yes.  He  was  certainly  perspicacious.  Where  did 
you  say  you  were  going?" 

Cassy  removed  her  gloves.  "Before  I  was  attacked? 
To  a  music-shop.  There  is  a  song  I  want  to  get  for 
Mrs.  Thingumagig's,  Mrs.  Beamish " 

"Mrs.  Who?"  Paliser  asked.  Again  he  had  forgot 
ten  the  lady.  But  from  one  of  memory's  pantries 
her  wraith  peered  out.  "Ah,  yes,  of  course!  Well, 
we  can  stop  by  for  it  and  you  can  run  it  over  in  the 


THE   PALISER   CASE  131 

country  to-night.  You  remember  that  you  are  to  dine 
with  me,  don't  you?" 

Cassy  lifted  a  lip  as  a  dog  does  when  about  to  bite. 
"Remember  it,  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else." 

But  now  the  waiter  put  a  dish  between  them  and 
Paliser  said :  "You  make  me  feel  like  this  surprised 
tomato." 

Then  came  the  bite.  "While  you  are  about  it,  you 
can  feel  like  both  of  them.  I  am  not  going." 

Argument  weakens  everything  and  wearies  every 
body — except  the  young.  The  mouths  of  youth  are 
naturally  full  of  objections  and  insults.  Were  it  other 
wise,  young  people  would  be  too  servile  to  the  past, 
too  respectful  to  the  present  and  the  future  would  not 
know  them  as  guides. 

Paliser,  young  in  years,  but  old  at  heart,  omitted 
to  argue.  He  did  what  is  perhaps  superior,  he 
changed  the  subject.  "What  is  this  song  you  were 
speaking  of?  Why  not  try  that  thing  of  Rimsky- 
Korsakov,  the  'Chanson  Hindoue'  ?" 

Then,  throughout  that  course  and  the  courses  that 
followed,  peace  descended  upon  them.  Even  to  talk 
music  soothes  the  savage  breast.  It  soothed  Cassy  and 
to  such  an  extent  that,  finally,  when  the  ice  came  she 
made  no  bones  about  admitting  it  was  her  favourite 
dish. 

"Du  cafe,  monsieur?  Des  liqueurs?"  the  slacker 
asked. 

But  no,  Paliser  did  not  wish  anything  else,  nor  did 
Cassy.  The  ice  sufficed.  She  ate  it  slowly,  a  little 
forkful  at  a  time,  wishing  that  her  father  could  share 
it,  wishing  that  he,  too,  could  have  sofa'd  supremes 
and  some  one  to  pay  for  them.  She  raised  her  napkin. 


132  THE   PALISER   CASE 

Paliser  lit  a  cigarette  and  said:  "You  made  no 
reply  to  that  statement  of  mine." 

She  stared.     "What  statement?" 

"About  saving  your  life." 

"And  ruining  my  reputation  ?" 

"Well,  life  comes  first.  I  said  you  would  have  to 
marry  me  to  pay  for  it.  Will  you?" 

Cassy  lowered  the  napkin.  He  was  talking  in  jest 
she  knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  but  the  subject  was 
not  to  her  taste,  though  if  he  had  been  serious  she 
would  have  disliked  it  still  more.  She  wanted  to  give 
it  to  him,  but  no  fitting  insolence  occurred  to  her  and 
she  turned  to  the  window  before  which  two  Japanese 
were  passing,  with  the  air,  certainly  feigned,  which 
these  Asiatics  display,  of  being  hilarious  and  naif. 

"Will  you?"  he  repeated. 

"Will  I  what?" 

"Marry  me?" 

Perhaps  he  did  mean  it,  she  thought.  He  was  cheeky 
enough  for  anything.  But  now  he  was  prodding  her. 
"Say  yes.  Say  to-morrow;  say  to-day." 

She  turned  on  him.  "Why  not  yesterday?  Or  is 
it  just  another  of  your  pearls  of  thought?  You  are 
simply  ridiculous." 

Paliser  put  down  his  cigarette.  "That  is  the  proper 
note.  Marriage  is  ridiculous.  But  it  is  the  most  an 
cient  of  human  institutions.  Divorce  must  have  been 
invented  at  least  three  weeks  later." 

Cassy  did  not  mean  to  laugh  and  did  not  want  to, 
but  she  could  not  help  herself  and  she  exploded  it. 
"You  are  so  ardent!" 

Innocently  Paliser  caressed  his  chin.  He  had  made 
her  laugh  and  that  was  a  point  gained.  But  such 


THE    PALISER    CASE  133 

pleasure  as  he  may  have  experienced  he  succeeded  in 
concealing. 

"Again  the  proper  note !  I  am  ardent.  Yet — shall 
I  admit  it? — formerly  I  walked  in  darkness.  It  is 
all  due  to  my  father.  I  have  forgotten  the  prophet 
preaching  on  the  hillside  who  denounced  respectabil 
ity  as  a  low  passion.  But  my  father,  while  deeply 
religious,  has  views  more  advanced.  He  dotes  on  re 
spectability.  He  tried  to  instil  it  into  me  and,  alas! 
how  vainly!  I  was  as  the  blind,  the  light  was  with 
held  and  continued  to  be  until,  well,  until  a  miracle 
occurred.  You  appeared,  I  was  healed,  I  saw  and  I 
saw  but  you.  What  do  you  say?" 

"That  your  conversation  is  singularly  edifying." 
In  speaking,  Cassy  gathered  her  gloves  with  an  air 
slightly  hilarious  but  not  in  the  least  naif.  Before 
Paliser  could  cut  in,  she  added :  "If  I  don't  hurry, 
Ma  Tamby  will  be  out  and  I  shall  lose  my  lesson." 

Paliser  shifted.  She  is  devilish  pretty,  he  thought. 
But  is  she  worth  it?  For  a  second  he  considered  the 
possible  scandal  which  he  had  considered  before. 

He  stood  up.  "Let  me  take  you.  We  can  stop  for 
the  song  on  the  way." 


XVIII 

Carlottatralala !  Dear  Carlottatralala !" 
Lightly  at  the  door,  Cassy  strung  the  words 
to  a  mazourka.  Her  voice  twisted,  swung,  danced  into 
a  trill  that  was  captured  by  echoes  that  carried  it 
diminishingly  down  the  stairway  of  the  mansion  where 
Carlotta  Tamburini  lived. 

"Eh?" 

Partially  the  door  opened.  A  fat  slovenly  woman 
showed  an  unpowdered  nose,  a  loose  unpainted  mouth, 
and,  at  sight  of  Paliser,  backed.  "For  God's  sake! 
One  moment,  dearie.  Straight  ahead.  With  you  in 
two  shakes." 

Cassy,  her  yellow  frock  swishing,  led  the  way  to  a 
room  furnished  with  heaped  scores,  with  a  piano,  a 
bench,  chairs  and  a  portrait,  on  foot,  of  a  star  before 
the  fall.  Adjacently  were  framed  programmes,  the 
faded  tokens  of  forgetless  and  forgotten  nights,  and, 
with  them,  the  usual  portraits  of  the  usual  royalties, 
but  perhaps  unusually  signed.  The  ex-diva  had  at 
tended  to  that  herself. 

Paliser,  straddling  the  bench,  put  his  hat  on  the 
piano  and  looked  at  Cassy,  who  had  gone  to  the  win 
dow.  It  was  not  the  palaces  opposite  that  she  saw. 
Before  her  was  a  broken  old  man  revamped.  In  his 
hand  was  a  baton  which  he  brandished  demoniacally 
at  an  orchestra  of  his  own.  The  house  foamed  with 
faces,  shook  with  applause,  and  without,  at  the  glow- 

134 


THE    PALISER    CASE  135 

ing  gates,  a  chariot  carried  him  instantly  to  the  seren 
ities  of  elaborate  peace. 

"It  won't  take  over  an  hour." 

The  vision  vanished.  Across  the  way,  in  a  window 
opposite,  a  young-  man  was  dandling,  twirling  one 
side  of  a  moustache,  cocking  a  conquering  eye.  Cassy 
did  not  see  him.  Directly  behind  her  another  young 
man  was  talking.  She  did  not  hear. 

On  leaving  the  restaurant  and,  after  it,  the  music- 
shop,  the  car  had  taken  them  into  the  Park  where 
Paliser,  alleging  that  he  was  out  of  matches,  had 
handed  her  into  another  restaurant  where  more  Vichy 
was  put  before  her  and,  with  it,  that  question. 

The  air  was  sweet  with  lilacs.  On  the  green  be 
yond  Cassy  could  see  them,  could  see,  too,  a  squirrel 
there  that  had  gone  quite  mad.  It  flew  around  and 
around,  stopped  suddenly  short,  chattered  furiously 
and  with  a  flaunt  of  the  tail,  disappeared  up  a  tree. 

"What  a  dear!"  was  Cassy 's  reply  to  that  question. 

But  Paliser  gave  her  all  the  rope  that  she  wanted. 
He  had  no  attraction  for  her,  he  knew  it,  and  in  view 
of  other  experiences,  the  fact  interested  him.  It  had 
the  charm  of  novelty  to  this  man  who,  though  young, 
was  old;  who,  perhaps,  was  born  old;  born,  as  some 
are,  too  old  in  a  world  too  young. 

He  struck  a  match  and  watched  the  little  blue-gold 
flame  flare  and  subside.  It  may  have  seemed  to  him 
typical.  Then  he  looked  up. 

"Frankly,  I  have  no  inducements  to  offer,  and,  by 
the  same  token,  no  lies.  It  would  be  untrue  if  I  said 
I  loved  you.  Love  is  not  an  emotion,  it  is  a  habit,  one 
which  it  takes  time  to  form.  I  have  had  no  oppor 
tunity  to  acquire  it,  but  I  have  acquired  another.  I 


136  THE    PALISER    CASE 

have  formed  the  habit  of  admiring  you.  The  task  was 
not  difficult.  Is  there  anything  in  your  glass?" 

"A  bit  of  cork,  I  think,"  said  Cassy,  who  was  hold 
ing  the  glass  to  the  light  and  who  was  holding  it  more 
over  as  though  she  had  thoughts  for  nothing  else. 

But  her  thoughts  were  agile  as  that  squirrel.  A 
why  not?  Why  not?  Why  not?  was  spinning  in 
them,  spinning  around  and  around  so  quickly  that  it 
dizzied  her.  Then,  like  the  squirrel,  up  a  tree  she  flew. 
For  herself,  no.  She  did  not  want  him,  never  had 
wanted  him,  never  could. 

"May  I  have  it  ?"  Paliser  took  the  glass.  Save  for 
subsiding  bubbles,  and  the  bogus  water,  there  was 
nothing  there.  "Will  you  take  mine?  I  have  not 
touched  it." 

Cassy  took  it  from  him,  drank  it,  drank  it  all.  Her 
thoughts  raced  on.  She  was  aware  of  that,  though 
with  what  they  were  racing  she  could  not  tell. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  am  so  thirsty." 

Paliser  knew.  He  knew  that  the  taste  of  perplexity 
is  very  salt.  She  was  considering  it,  he  saw,  and  he 
payed  out  the  rope. 

"People  who  claim  to  be  wise  are  imbeciles.  But 
people  who  claim  to  be  happy  are  in  luck.  I  have  no 
pretensions  to  wisdom  but  I  can  claim  to  be  lucky 
if " 

Cassy,  her  steeple-chasing  thoughts  now  out  of 
hand,  was  saying  something  and  he  stopped. 

"It  is  very  despicable  of  me  even  to  listen  to  you. 
I  don't  think  I  would  have  listened,  if  you  had  not 
been  frank.  But  you  have  had  the  honesty  not  to  pre 
tend.  I  must  be  equally  sincere.  I " 

It  was  Paliser's  turn.  With  a  laugh  he  interrupted. 
"Don't.  A  little  sincerity  is  a  dangerous  thing  and  a 


THE    PALISER    CASE  137 

great  deal  of  it  must  be  fatal.  Besides  I  know  it  all 
by  heart.  I  am  the  son  of  rich  and  disreputable  people. 
That  is  not  my  fault,  and,  anyway,  it  is  all  one  to 
you.  But  what  you  mean  is  that,  should  you  consent, 
the  consideration  will  not  be — er — personal  with  me 
or — er — spiritual  with  you,  but — er — just  plain  and 
simple  materialism." 

Cassy  looked  wonderingly  at  him.  It  was  surprising 
how  quickly  and  how  completely  he  had  nailed  it.  But 
into  the  bewilderment  there  crept  something  else. 
"Yes,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  look  myself  in  the  face." 

Paliser  gave  a  tug  at  the  rope.  'Then  don't  do 
that  either.  Look  at  me.  Matrimony  is  no  child's 
play.  It  is  like  a  trip  to  England — close  confinement 
with  the  chance  of  being  torpedoed.  Interference  is 
the  submarine  that  sinks  good  ships.  If  you  consent, 
there  is  only  one  thing  on  which  I  shall  insist,  but  I 
shall  insist  on  it  absolutely." 

Visibly  the  autocrat  stiffened.    "Shall  you,  indeed !" 

Paliser  pounded,  or  affected  to  pound,  on  the  table. 
"Yes,  absolutely." 

You  may  go  to  Flanders  then,  thought  Cassy,  but, 
with  that  look  which  she  could  summon  and  which  was 
tolerably  blighting,  she  said,  "Ah!  The  drill  ser 
geant  !" 

"Yes,  and  here  is  the  goose-step.  The  drill  ser 
geant  orders  that  you  must  always  have  your  own 
way  in  everything." 

Considerably  relaxed  by  that,  Cassy  laughed.  "You 
are  very  rigorous.  But  don't  you  think  it  is  rather 
beside  the  mark?" 

"Beside  it !"  Paliser  exclaimed.  "It  tops  it,  goes  all 
over  it,  covers  it,  covers  the  grass,  covers  everything — 
except  a  fair  field,  a  free  rein  and  every  favour." 


138  THE   PALISER   CASE 

Cassy  was  gazing  beyond  where  the  squirrel  had 
been.  A  limousine  passed.  A  surviving  victoria  fol 
lowed.  Both  were  superior.  So  also  were  the  oc 
cupants.  They  were  very  smart  people.  You  could 
tell  it  from  the  way  they  looked.  They  had  an  air 
contemptuous  and  sullen.  The  world  is  not  good 
enough  for  them,  Cassy  thought.  In  an  hour,  car 
and  carriage  would  stop.  The  agreeable  occupants 
would  alight.  They  would  enter  fastidious  homes. 
Costly  costumes  they  would  exchange  for  costumes 
that  were  costlier.  They  would  sit  at  luxurious  boards, 
lead  the  luxurious  life  and  continue  to,  until  they  died 
of  obesity  of  the  mind. 

None  of  that!  Cassy  decided.  But  already  the  pic 
ture  was  fading,  replaced  by  another  that  showed  a 
broken  old  man,  without  a  penny  to  his  name,  or  a 
hope  save  in  her. 

From  the  screen,  she  turned  to  Paliser,  who,  aware 
of  her  absence,  had  omitted  to  recall  her.  Now,  though, 
that  she  again  condescended  to  be  present,  he  ad* 
dressed  her  in  his  Oxford  voice. 

"But  what  was  I  saying?  Yes,  I  remember,  some, 
thing  that  somebody  said  before  me.  Nowadays 
every  one  marries  except  a  few  stupid  women  and  a 
few  very  wise  men.  Yet,  then,  as  I  told  you,  I  have 
no  pretensions  to  wisdom." 

"Nor  I  to  stupidity,"  Cassy  thoughtlessly  retorted. 
Yet  at  once,  realising  not  merely  the  vanity  of  the 
boast  but  what  was  far  worse,  the  construction  that  it 
invited,  she  tried  to  recall  it,  tangled  her  tongue,  got 
suddenly  red  and  turned  away. 

"You  do  me  infinite  honour  then/'  said  Paliser,  who 
spoke  better  than  he  knew.  But  her  visible  discom 
fort  delighted  him.  He  saw  that  she  wanted  to  wriggle 


THE    PALISER   CASE  139 

out  of  it  and,  like  a  true  sportsman,  he  gave  her  an 
opening  in  which  she  would  trip. 

"Matrimony  is  temporary  insanity  with  permanent 
results.  You  must  not  incur  them  blindfolded.  Do 
me  the  favour  to  look  this  way.  Before  you  sits  a 
pauper." 

In  the  surprise  of  that,  Cassy  did  look  and  walked 
straight  into  it.  "What?" 

"Precisely."  In  sheer  enjoyment  he  began  lying 
frankly  and  freely.  He  lied  because  lying  is  a  part  of 
the  game,  because  it  is  an  agreeable  pastime  and  be 
cause,  too,  if  she  swallowed  it — and  why  shouldn't 
she? — it  might  put  a  spoke  in  such  wheels  as  she  might 
otherwise  and  subsequently  set  going. 

"Precisely,"  he  repeated.  "It  is  different  with  my 
father.  My  father  has  what  is  called  a  regular  in 
come.  One  of  these  days  I  shall  inherit  it.  It  will 
keep  us  out  of  the  poorhouse.  But  meanwhile  I  have 
only  the  pittance  that  he  allows  me." 

Yes,  Cassy  sagaciously  reflected.  What  with  Pal- 
iser  Place,  its  upkeep  and  the  rest  of  it,  it  must  be  a 
pittance.  But  the  lie  behind  it,  which  she  mistook 
for  honesty,  tripped  her  as  it  was  intended  to  do.  A 
moment  before  she  might  have  backed  out.  Now,  in 
view  of  the  lie  that  she  thought  was  truth,  how  could 
she?  It  would  be  tantamount  to  acknowledging  she 
was  for  sale  but  that  he  hadn't  the  price.  Red  al 
ready,  at  the  potential  shame  of  that  she  got  redder. 

Paliser,  who  saw  everything,  saw  the  heightening 
flush,  knew  what  it  meant,  knew  that  he  was  landing 
her,  but  knew,  too,  that  he  must  bear  the  honours 
modestly. 

"Bread  and  cheese  in  a  cottage  and  with  you!"  he 
exclaimed.  "But,  forgive  me,  I  am  becoming  lyrical." 


140  THE    PALISER    CASE 

He  turned,  summoned  the  waiter,  paid  for  the  water, 
paid  for  the  service  and  took  from  the  man  his  stick. 

Cassy  went  with  him  to  the  car.  She  had  made  no 
reply.  If  she  were  to  take  the  plunge,  there  was  no 
use  shivering  on  the  brink.  But  what  would  her 
father  say?  He  would  be  furious  of  course,  though 
how  his  fury  would  change  into  benedictions  when  he 
found  himself  transported  from  the  walk-up,  lifted 
from  Harlem  and  cold  veal !  Presently  there  would  be 
a  flower  in  his  button-hole  and  everything  that  went 
with  the  flower.  Moreover,  if  the  poor  dear  wanted 
to  be  absurd,  she  would  let  him  parade  his  marquisate ; 
while,  as  for  herself,  she  would  have  to  say  good-bye 
to  so  much  that  had  been  so  little.  Good-bye !  Addio 
per  sempre !  The  phrase  from  La  Tosca  came  to  her. 
It  told  of  kisses  and  caresses  that  she  had  never  had. 
Yet,  beneath  her  breath,  she  repeated  it.  Addio  per 
sempre ! 

Then  suddenly,  without  transition,  she  felt  extraor 
dinarily  at  peace  with  herself,  with  everybody,  with 
everything.  After  all,  she  did  not  kno^yv,  stranger 
things  had  happened,  she  might  even  learn  to  care 
for  him  and  to  care  greatly.  But  whether  she  did  or 
she  did  not,  she  would  be  true  as  steel — truer!  He 
had  been  so  nice  about  it!  Yes,  she  might,  particu 
larly  since  she  had  made  a  clean  breast  of  it  and  he 
knew  she  was  marrying  him  for  what  it  pleased  him 
to  describe  as  his  pittance. 

The  car  now  was  flying  up  the  Riverside.  An  om 
nibus  passed.  From  the  roof,  a  country  couple  spotted 
the  handsome  girl  and  the  handsome  young  man  who 
were  lolling  back  so  sumptuously,  and  the  lady 
stranger,  pointing,  said  to  her  gentleman:  "Vander- 
bilt  folk,  I  guess,  ain't  they  dandy!" 


THE    PALISER    CASE  141 

Behind  the  lady  sat  a  novelist  who  was  less  en 
thusiastic.  Another  girl  gone  gay,  was  his  mental 
comment.  Well,  why  not?  he  reflected,  for  Jones' 
prejudices  were  few  and  far  between.  Besides,  he 
added :  Les  Portugais  sont  toujours  gais.  But  he  had 
other  things  to  think  about  and  he  dismissed  the  in 
cident,  which,  in  less  than  a  week,  he  had  occasion  to 
recall. 

Cassy,  meanwhile,  after  serenading  a  fat  woman's 
door  and  looking  from  a  palatial  window  at  the  mov 
ing-pictures  of  her  thoughts,  at  last  heard  Paliser, 
who,  already,  had  twice  addressed  her. 

"It  won't  take  over  an  hour  or  so." 

But  now  the  Tamburini,  ceremoniously  attired  in 
a  wrapper,  strode  in  and  Paliser,  who  had  been  strad 
dling  the  music-bench,  stood  up. 

The  fact  that  they  had  come  together  and  were  to 
gether,  had  already  darkly  enlightened  the  fallen  star 
and  as  she  strode  in  she  exclaimed  with  poetry  and 
fervour :  "Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought !" 

Paliser  took  his  hat.  "We  are  a  trifle  better  pro 
vided.  I  have  as  many  as  three  or  four  thoughts  and 
one  of  them  concerns  a  license.  I  am  going  to  get  it." 

His  face  was  turned  from  Cassy  and  his  eyes, 
which  he  had  fastened  on  his  hostess,  held  caveats, 
commands,  rewards. 

Massively  she  flung  herself  on  Cassy.  "Dearie,  I 
weep  for  joy!" 

Cassy  shoved  her  away.    "Not  on  me,  Tamby." 

But  the  dear  lady,  in  attacking  her,  shot  a  glance 
at  Paliser.  It  was  very  voluble. 

Cassy,  too,  was  looking  at  him.  Her  education  had 
been  thorough.  She  knew  any  number  of  useless 
things.  In  geography,  history,  and  the  multiplication- 


142  THE    PALISER   CASE 

table  she  was  versed.  But  Kent's  Commentaries,  pas 
sionate  as  they  are,  were  beyond  her  ken.  The  laws 
to  which  they  relate  were  also.  None  the  less,  on  the 
subject  of  one  law  she  had  an  inkling,  vague,  unpre- 
cised,  and,  for  all  she  knew  to  the  contrary,  incorrect. 
She  blurted  it.  "Don't  I  have  to  go,  too?" 

Ma  Tamby  grabbed  it.     "Go  where,  dearie  ?" 

"For  the  license?" 

Ma  Tamby  tittered.  "Not  unless  you  love  the  song 
of  the  subway.  The  license  is  a  man's  job."  Twist 
ing,  she  giggled  at  Paliser.  "But  not  hard  labour, 
he,  he!"  ' 

"A  life-term,  though,"  he  answered  and  added: 
"I'll  go  at  once." 

That  settled  it  for  Cassy.  A  chair  stretched  its 
arms  to  her.  She  sat  down. 

Wildly  the  fat  woman  gesticulated.  "Dearie,  no! 
But  how  it  gets  me !  As  true  as  gospel  I  dreamed  so 
much  about  it  that  it  kept  me  awake.  I  do  believe  I 
have  a  pint  of  champy.  Shall  I  fetch  it?  I  must." 

Coldly  Cassy  considered  her.  "Don't.  You'll  only 
get  tight." 

Paliser,  making  for  the  door,  called  back:  "Save 
a  drop  for  me." 

"May  the  Lord  forgive  me,"  sighed  the  fat  woman. 
"I  was  that  flustered  I  forgot  to  congratulate  him. 
But  how  it  takes  me  back !  Dearie,  I  too  was  young ! 
I  too  have  loved !  Ah,  gioventu  primavera  della  vita ! 
Ah,  1'amore!  Ah!  Ah!" 

"You  make  me  sick,"  said  Cassy. 

-Dearie " 

"Be  quiet.  My  father  won't  like  it  and  I  can't  lie  to 
him  about  it.  But  I  shall  need  some  things  and  you 
will  have  to  go  for  them.  What  will  you  tell  him?" 


THE   PALISER   CASE  143 

With  one  hand,  the  fat  woman  could  have  flattened 
Cassy's  father  out.  But  not  his  tongue.  The  nest  of 
vipers  there,  even  then  hissed  at  her. 

"Why,  dearie,  to-morrow  you'll  have  your  pick  of 
Fifth  Avenue  and  until  then,  if  you  need  a  tooth-brush, 
I'll  get  one  for  you  around  the  corner." 

"But  my  father  will  have  to  be  told  something. 
He'll  worry  to  death.  I  might  write  though,  and  put 
on  a  special  delivery.  Look  here.  Have  you  any  note 
paper  that  isn't  rotten  with  scent?  If  not,  I  do  be 
lieve  I'll  chuck  it." 

"For  God's  sake,  dearie!" 

Hastily,  in  search  of  scentless  paper,  the  fat  woman 
made  off. 


XIX 

OVER  the  way,  on  the  jimcrack  of  the  stately  man 
sion  opposite,  the  westering  sun  had  put  an  aig 
rette  of  gold.  The  young  man  with  the  conquering 
eye  had  gone.  A  lovely  Jewess,  leaning  like  a  gar 
goyle,  violently  threatened  some  Ikey  in  the  unlovely 
street  below.  Above  was  a  pallid  green.  Beyond, 
across  the  river,  the  sun,  poised  on  a  hill-top,  threw 
from  its  eternal  palette  shades  of  salmon  and  ochre  that 
tinted  an  archipelago  of  slender  clouds.  But  in  the 
street  was  the  music  of  carefree  lads,  playing  base 
ball,  exchanging  chaste  endearments.  There  too  was 
the  gaiety  of  little  trulls,  hasty  and  happy  on  their 
roller-skates.  While  perhaps  to  generalise  these  de 
lights,  a  trundled  organ  tossed  a  ragtime.  The  charm 
was  certainly  affecting  and  that  charm  the  horn  of 
Paliser's  approaching  car  merely  increased. 

Long  since  the  letter  had  gone  and,  with  it,  an 
other  to  Mrs.  Yallum.  In  the  former,  Cassy  had  tried 
to  gild  the  pill,  yet  without  succeeding  in  disguising  it. 

Dear  Daddy: 

You  are  the  best  man  in  the  world  and  the  next  best 
your  little  girl  is  to  marry  now,  right  away,  and  become 
Mrs.  Monty  Paliser.  But  my  heart  will  be  with  you  and 
so  will  Mrs.  Yallum.  Don't  fuss  with  her,  there's  a 
dear,  and  take  your  medicine  regularly  and  be  ready  to 
give  me  your  blessing  as  soon  as  I  can  run  in,  which 
will  be  at  the  first  possible  moment,  when  I  shall  have 

144 


THE    PALISER    CASE  145 

more  news,  good  news,  better  news,  best  of  daddies, 

for  thee'  A  whirlwind  of  kisses, 

CASSY. 

Adjacently,  on  the  upper  reaches  of  Broadway,  Ma 
Tamby  was  shopping.  The  sun  now,  gone  from  the 
river,  was  painting  other  spheres.  From  a  corner, 
shadows  crept.  They  devoured  the  floor,  absorbed 
the  piano,  assimilated  the  room.  They  left  pits  where 
they  passed.  They  enveloped  Cassy. 

Suddenly,  she  shivered. 

She  had  been  far  away,  outside  of  the  world,  in  a 
region  to  which  the  clamouring  street  could  not  mount. 
Her  thoughts  had  lifted  her  to  a  land  that  had  the 
colours,  clear  and  yet  capricious,  of  which  dreams  are 
made.  There  beauty  stood,  and  truth  with  beauty,  and 
so  indistinguishably  that  the  two  were  one.  But  truth, 
detaching  herself,  showed  her  candid  face.  The 
shadows  elongating,  reached  up  and  darkened  it.  The 
candour  remained,  but  the  candour  had  become  ter 
rible.  Cassy  saw  it.  She  saw  that  the  land  to  which 
she  had  been  lifted  was  the  land  of  beauty  and  horror. 
It  was  then  she  shivered. 

Instantly  something  touched  her.  There  was  no 
one.  The  land,  the  beauty,  the  horror  had  faded.  No 
longer  on  the  heights,  she  was  in  a  trivial  room  in  Har 
lem.  She  was  awake.  She  was  absolutely  alone. 
None  the  less  something  that  was  nothing,  something 
invisible,  inaudible,  intangible,  imperceptible,  some 
thing  emanating  from  the  depths  where  events  crouch, 
prepared  to  pounce,  had  touched  her.  She  knew  it, 
she  felt  it.  Her  impulse  was  to  scream,  to  rush  away. 
But  from  what?  It  was  all  imaginary.  Common- 
sense,  that  can  be  so  traitorous,  told  her  that.  Then, 


146  THE    PALISER    CASE 

immediately,  before  the  wireless  from  the  unknown, 
which  modern  occultism  calls  the  impact,  could  impel 
her,  the  room  was  invaded. 

Ma  Tamby,  tramping  in,  switching  on  the  lights,  was 
exclaiming  and  gesticulating  at  her  and  at  Paliser,  who 
had  followed  and  who  was  standing  in  the  doorway. 

"Dearie !  For  God's  sake !  The  child's  asleep !  In 
all  my  born  days  I  never  knew  the  likes  of  that !" 

Icily  Cassy  eyed  her.     "What  have  you  there?" 

"Where?  What?  This?"  Feelingly  the  woman 
exhibited  a  nice,  big  package.  "Why,  the  things  I 
bought  for  you!" 

"And  do  you  for  a  moment  suppose  that  I  am  going 
to  carry  a  bundle?" 

"Saints  alive,  child !    Didn't  you  tell  me " 

But  now  Paliser,  in  his  cultured  voice,  intervened. 
"If  I  may  have  it  ?"  He  took  it,  moved  to  the  window, 
leaned  from  it,  called:  "Mike!  You  see  this?  Then 
see  too  that  you  don't  muff  it." 

The  bundle  vanished. 

He  turned  to  Cassy.  "I  telephoned  to  Dr.  Grantly. 
He  is  a  clergyman.  It  might  seem  uncivil  to  keep 
him  waiting." 

Cassy  saw  him  at  once — a  starchy  old  man,  with  a 
white  tie  and  little  side  whiskers,  who  lived — and 
would  die — in  a  closed  circle  of  thought. 

Then  again  that  nothing  touched  her,  though,  be 
cause  of  the  others,  more  lightly,  less  surely.  But  it 
touched  her.  She  was  quite  conscious  of  it,  equally 
conscious  that  there  was  still  time,  that  she  could  still 
desist,  that  she  had  only  to  say  that  she  would  not, 
that  she  had  changed  her  mind  and  tell  them  no,  right 
out  and  be  hanged  to  them.  On  the  strawberry  of  her 
tongue  it  trembled.  At  once  before  her  there  floated 


THE    PALISER    CASE  147 

another  picture,  the  picture  of  a  shabby  old  man, 
without  a  penny  in  the  world,  or  a  hope  save  in  her. 

She  stood  up. 

"Dearie,  dearie,  I  wish  you  joy,  I  do!"  the  fat 
woman  sobbed,  or  appeared  to  sob,  and  everything  be 
ing  possible,  it  may  be  that  she  did  not  sob.  La  joie 
fait  peur.  She  had  done  her  part.  On  the  morrow  a 
cheque  would  reach  her.  "Dearie,  dearie!" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  Cassy  frigidly  threw  at  her. 

"Will  you  take  my  arm?"  Paliser  asked. 

"Don't  be  a  fool  either,"  she  threw  at  him  and 
bravely,  head  up,  went  on  to  the  events  that  waited. 

In  the  street  below  a  strain  overtook  her.  Ma 
Tamby  was  amusing  herself  with  "Lohengrin." 


XX 


PALISER,  alighting,  turned  to  help  Cassy.  But 
Cassy  could  get  out  unassisted. 

The  grave1  crunched  beneath  the  wheels  of  the  re 
treating  car.  From  afar  came  the  bark  of  a  dog, 
caught  up  and  repeated.  Otherwise  the  air  was  still, 
very  sweet.  The  house  too  was  silent.  In  the  hall 
and  in  the  windows  there  were  lights,  but  there  seemed 
to  be  nobody  about  and  that  and  the  quiet  gave  her 
the  delicious  impression  that  the  house  was  enchanted. 
It  was  a  very  nonsensical  impression,  but  it  was  the 
nonsense  that  made  it  delicious. 

Paliser  was  saying  something,  though  what  she  did 
not  hear.  The  sky  now  was  indigo  and  in  it  hung  a 
yellow  feather.  On  the  Hudson  it  had  been  very  pale, 
the  ghost  of  a  feather.  But,  as  Harlem  receded,  it 
had  ridden  higher  and  brightened  in  the  ride.  Cassy 
had  watched  it,  wishing  that  Paliser  would  not  talk. 
He  had  sat  next  to  her,  on  the  same  seat,  yet  if  the 
portion  of  it  which  he  occupied  had  been  in  a  Queens 
land  back-block,  he  could  not  have  been  farther  from 
her  heart.  He  took  her  hand  and  she  let  him.  He 
kissed  her  and  she  submitted  to  that.  But  she  won 
dered  whether  courtesans  do  not  hate  the  men  who 
pay  them,  more  than  they  hate  themselves.  Was  she 
any  better?  However  a  priest  mumbled  at  her,  she 
was  selling  herself.  Love  alone  is  marriage.  She 
had  none,  nor  had  he.  The  whole  thing  was  abomi 
nable,  and,  as  he  held  her  hand  and  pressed  her  lips,  her 

148 


THE    PALISER   CASE  149 

young  soul  rebelled.  Even  for  her  father's  sake,  this 
cup  was  too  much. 

Now  though,  the  empty  hall  and  the  great  silent 
house  took  on  the  atmosphere  of  the  Palace  of  the 
White  Cat.  The  cup  became  a  philtre.  The  abomina 
tion  changed  into  deliciousness.  There  are  fairy-tales 
that  are  real.  For  all  she  knew,  Paliser  might  change 
into  Prince  Charming  and  certainly  he  looked  it. 

He  had  been  saying  something,  what  she  did  not 
hear.  But  on  the  steps  beneath  the  perron,  she  turned 
and  saw  that  which  previously  she  had  not  realised, 
he  was  extraordinarily  good-looking,  and  about  her 
closed  a  consciousness  that  her  rowdy  frock  was  a 
tissue  of  diamonds  and  that  he  was  in  doublet  and 
hose. 

A  moment  only.  But  during  it  something  melted 
about  her.  Immediately  aware  of  the  phenomenon, 
she  felt  that  she  ought  to  freeze.  She  tried  to  and 
failed.  The  atmosphere  of  deliciousness  prevented 
and,  though  she  did  not  know  the  reason,  she  did  know 
that  she  had  failed  and  the  fact  instead  of  annoying, 
amused.  Then,  as  she  followed  Paliser  into  the  house, 
she  told  herself  that  she  was  an  imbecile,  that  she  did 
not  know  her  own  mind  and,  without  transition,  won 
dered  how  her  father  was  taking  it. 

From  the  hall,  they  passed  through  a  succession  of 
rooms  vacant,  subdued,  rich,  and  on  into  that  other 
room  where  she  had  sung.  At  the  farther  end  was  a 
hyacinth  curtain  that  masked  a  door.  But  near  the 
entrance  through  which  she  had  come  was  an  ivory 
chair.  Cassy,  seating  herself  on  it,  wondered  what 
had  become  of  the  bundle.  She  was  sure  that  it  held 
everything  except  what  she  wanted.  Then  suddenly  be 
hind  her  blue  smock  came  a  gnawing.  She  thought  she 


150  THE    PALISER    CASE 

would  ask  Paliser  to  have  somebody  fetch  her  a  sand 
wich,  two  sandwiches,  or  else  some  bread  and  butter, 
but,  now  that  she  looked  for  him,  he  had  gone. 

She  got  up,  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  on  an 
other  chair  which  was  black,  probably  ebony.  It  had 
a  curial  appearance  that  suggested  the  senate,  not  the 
senate  at  Washington,  but  the  S.  P.  Q.  of  Rome.  It 
was  quite  near  the  hyacinth  curtain  and  behind  the 
latter  she  heard  voices.  Like  the  rooms  they  were  sub 
dued.  She  could  distinguish  nothing.  Yet  there  must 
be  a  bell  somewhere  and  she  decided  that  if  Paliser  did 
not  shortly  return,  she  would  ring.  The  gnawing  was 
sharper.  She  was  very  hungry. 

Again  she  got  up  and  looked  from  a  window.  It 
gave  on  a  garden  in  which  there  was  underbush  that 
the  moon  was  chequering  with  amber  spots.  After 
all,  it  was  a  queer  sort  of  a  wedding.  But  what  had 
she  expected?  Grace  Church?  St.  Thomas'?  In 
vitations  a  fortnight  in  advance,  aisles  banked  with 
flowers,  filled  with  snobs  and  the  garbage  of  the  Wag 
ner  score  that  Ma  Tamby  had  tossed  after  her?  Not 
by  a  long  shot ! 

She  turned.  Paliser  was  entering.  But  the  gnaw 
ing  had  nibbled  away  the  enchantment  and,  as  she 
turned,  she  looked  rather  cross. 

Paliser,  noticing  that  but  mistaking  the  cause,  said 
very  sympathetically :  "During  the  Terror,  a  princess 
jogged  along,  smelling  a  rose.  Marriage  is  no  worse 
than  the  guillotine,  besides  being  much  less  summary. 
Will  you  come?" 

"Less  summary?  I  should  say  so!"  Cassy  retorted. 
"It  is  far  too  lingering." 

But  she  followed  him  out  into  another  hall,  one  that 
was  hung  with  tapestries.  They  were  dim  and  em- 


THE    PALISER   CASE  151 

broidered  with  what  seemed  to  be  pearls.  On  the 
floor  was  a  rug,  dim  also,  narrow,  very  long,  that 
extended  to  a  room,  lined  with  high-placed  bookcases 
and  set  with  low-placed  lights.  In  the  room  stood  a 
man.  He  wore  a  long  black  coat  and  a  waistcoat  that 
reached  to  his  collar.  In  his  hand  was  a  book. 

"Dr.  Grantly,"  said  Paliser,  who  added,  "Miss 
Cara." 

Dr.  Grantly  bowed  but  without  distinction.  Be 
cause  of  the  position  of  the  lights,  his  face  was  ob 
scured  and  what  Cassy  could  discern  of  it  she  judged 
young  and  uninteresting.  When  Paliser  had  first  men 
tioned  him — and  how  long  ago  it  seemed! — she  had 
fancied  him  old.  She  had  fancied  too  that  he  would 
have  little  side  whiskers.  The  fact  that  he  was  young 
was  not  a  disappointment.  Clergymen,  whether  old  or 
young,  did  not  interest  her.  She  did  not  care  for  them, 
or  for  churches,  or  the  services  in  them.  The  cere 
monial  of  worship  seemed  to  her  empty.  Creeds  pro 
fessed  but  not  practised  seemed  to  her  vain.  But  she 
would  carry  an  injured  cat  for  miles.  A  lost  dog  was 
found  the  moment  she  spotted  it.  She  did  what  good 
she  could,  not  because  it  is  a  duty,  but  for  a  superior 
reason.  She  liked  to  do  it.  One  may  be  a  Christian 
without  caring  for  churches. 

"Dearly  beloved " 

In  the  depths  over  which  she  had  passed,  excite 
ment  and  the  novelty  of  it  had,  until  then,  supported 
her.  But  at  that  exordium,  instantly,  they  fell  away; 
instantly  fear,  like  a  wave,  swept  over  her.  Instantly 
she  felt,  and  the  feeling  is  by  no  means  agreeable,  that 
she  was  struggling  with  the  intangible  in  a  void.  But 
she  had  not  intended  to  drown,  or  no,  that  was  not  it, 
she  had  not  wanted  to  marry.  Aware  of  the  depths, 


152  THE    PALISER   CASE 

not  until  then  had  she  known  their  peril.  Until  that 
moment  she  had  not  realised  their  menace.  Then 
abruptly  it  caught  and  submerged  her. 

"I  require  and  charge  you  both  as  ye  will  answer  at 
the  dreadful  day  of  judgment " 

The  solemnity  of  the  sonorous  exhortation  was 
water  in  her  ears.  The  sound  of  it  reached  her  con 
fusedly,  in  a  jumble.  She  was  drowning  and  it  was 
unconsciously,  in  this  condition,  that  poked  by  Paliser, 
she  heard  herself  uttering  the  consenting  words  that 
are  so  irrevocable  and  so  fluid. 

It  was  over  then — or  nearly!  The  thought  of  it 
shook  her  from  the  mental  swoon.  Behind  her  some 
one  spoke  and  she  wondered  who  it  could  be.  But 
a  movement  distracted  her.  Dr.  Grantly  had  shifted 
the  book  from  one  hand  to  the  other  and  as  absently 
she  followed  the  movement,  she  saw  that  the  hand  that 
now  held  the  book  was  maimed  or  else  malformed. 

But  what  immediately  occupied  her  were  other 
words  which,  prompted  by  him,  she  was  automatically 
repeating.  The  words  are  very  beautiful,  really  exalt 
ing,  they  are  words  that  spread  peace  as  dawn  spreads 
upon  the  sea.  Yet,  in  their  delivery,  twice  Dr.  Grantly 
tripped  and,  though  on  each  occasion  he  pulled  himself 
up  and  went  on  again  without  embarrassment,  it 
seemed  to  Cassy  that  he  did  so  without  dignity. 

The  impression,  which  was  but  momentary,  drifted; 
another  distraction  intervened,  her  ringer  was  being 
ringed.  I'm  done  for!  she  despairingly  thought. 

"Amen !" 

"Ouf !"  Cassy  gasped.  It  was  really  over,  over  at 
last,  and  still  a  little  bewildered,  she  turned.  The 
butler  and  the  maid  were  leaving  the  room,  which  they 
must  have  entered  when  the  ceremony  first  over- 


THE    PALISER    CASE  153 

whelmed  her.  From  the  hall  a  slight  cackle  floated 
back. 

It  amused  them,  she  generously  reflected. 

Paliser  did  not  notice.  He  was  addressing  the 
clergyman.  "Thank  you  very  much,  doctor."  He 
turned  to  his  bride.  "Cutting  your  head  off  may  have 
been  worse,  don't  you  think?" 

If  I  can't  be  gay  at  least  I  should  appear  so,  she 
told  herself  and  desperately  she  laughed. 

Meanwhile  the  man  of  God,  relapsing  into  the  man 
of  the  world,  or  of  its  neighbourhood,  did  not  seem  to 
know  what  to  do  with  himself.  He  dropped  the  book, 
picked  it  up,  put  it  on  the  table.  Considerately,  in  his 
Oxford  voice,  Paliser  instructed  him. 

"You  must  be  going?  Ah,  well,  I  appreciate.  Let 
me  thank  you  again." 

Dr.  Grantly  mumbled  something,  smiled  at  the  bride, 
smiled  at  the  happy  man  or,  more  exactly,  he  smiled 
at  an  envelope  which  the  happy  man  was  giving  him 
and  which,  Cassy  divined,  contained  his  fee.  How 
much?  she  wondered.  However  much  or  little,  it 
was  excessive. 

The  hall  took  him  and  the  groom  grappled  with  the 
bride,  embracing  her  with  that  rudimentary  paranoia 
which  lawful  passion  comports. 

She  struggled  free  and,  a  bit  breathless,  but  with  the 
same  desperate  gaiety,  exclaimed :  "If  this  is  matri 
mony,  give  me  war!" 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  dinner  first,"  Paliser, 
with  recovered  calm,  replied. 

Wouldn't  she,  though !  Now  that  she  was  definitely 
dished,  hunger  again  bit  at  her  and  she  accompanied 
Paliser  through  the  dim  hall,  through  the  music-room, 
through  the  long  suite,  into  the  dining-room  where, 


154  THE    PALISER   CASE 

as  before,  three  men,  with  white  sensual  faces,  stood 
waiting. 

Paliser  motioned.  "Mrs.  Paliser  will  sit  there. 
Move  the  other  chair  here."  He  drew  a  seat  for  her 
and  gave  additional  instructions.  "There  will  be  peo 
ple  here  to-morrow.  If  we  are  motoring,  have  them 
wait." 

"What  people?"  asked  Cassy,  before  whom  an  un 
comfortable  vision  of  her  father  and  Ma  Tamby 
jumped. 

Paliser  replied  in  French.  "A  man  and  a  woman 
or  two  from  Fifth  Avenue." 

I  wonder  where  that  bundle  is,  thought  Cassy  who 
said:  "A  man?  What  man?" 

"Oh,  just  a  clerk.  That  is  almond  soup.  Do  you 
care  for  it?"  He  looked  down  at  his  plate  which 
appeared  to  engross  him. 

Cassy  raised  her  spoon.  "A  penny  for  your 
thoughts." 

He  looked  up.  "They  are  worth  far  more.  I  was 
thinking  of  the  night  I  first  met  you." 

Cassy  laughed.     "And  Ma  Tamby's  ham  and  eggs  ?" 

Paliser,  raising  his  own  spoon,  added :  "It  was  Len 
nox  who  introduced  us.  You  knew  he  was  engaged  to 
Miss  Austen?  Well,  she  has  broken  it." 

Cassy  must  have  swallowed  the  soup  the  wrong  way. 
She  coughed,  lifted  her  napkin  and  saw  a  road,  long, 
dark,  infinitely  fatiguing  on  which  she  was  lost.  But 
the  soup  adjusted  itself,  the  road  turned  to  the  right. 
Lennox  had  never  so  much  as  said  boo !  In  anger  at 
herself  she  rubbed  her  mouth  hard  and  put  the  napkin 
down. 

Paliser,  who  had  been  tasting  and  sniffing  at  a  glass, 
looked  at  the  butler.  "What  is  this?  Take  it  away. 


THE    PALISER   CASE  155 

It  is  not  fit  for  a  convict."  He  looked  over  at  Gassy. 
"I  am  sorry." 

"One  gets  so  bored  with  good  wine,"  said  Cassy, 
who  recently  had  been  reading  Disraeli.  Yet  she  said 
it  absently,  the  unscrambled  eggs  about  her. 

But  the  saying  was  new  to  Paliser,  to  whom  few 
things  were.  He  relished  it  accordingly  and  the  more 
particularly  because  of  its  fine  flavour  of  high-bred 
insolence. 

From  where  he  sat,  he  eyed  her.  Although  she  was 
eating,  which  is  never  a  very  engaging  occupation,  her 
face  had  an  air  that  was  noble  and  reserved.  At  the 
moment,  a  scruple  in  which  there  was  a  doubt,  pre 
sented  itself.  In  view  of  the  coming  draft  act,  it  oc 
curred  to  him  that  he  might  have  gone  the  wrong  way 
about  it.  But  the  scruple  concerned  merely  the  ex 
pediency  of  the  adventure.  It  was  not  related  to  his 
conscience.  He  had  none. 

Now,  though,  a  new  decanter  was  before  him;  he 
tried  it,  drank  of  it,  judged  it  decent  and  drank  again. 
Being  decent,  it  was  not  heady.  It  did  not  affect  him. 
Cassy  had  done  that.  In  her  was  a  bouquet  which 
the  vineyard  of  youth  and  beauty  alone  produces.  He 
had  hankered  for  it.  Now,  like  the  decanter,  it  was 
before  him.  He  could  drink  his  fill.  Then  like  the 
other  wine,  he  could  send  it  away. 


XXI 

THE  elder  Paliser,  seated  in  the  hall  of  his  town 
house,  held  a  cup.  In  the  chair,  a  doge  had 
throned.  On  the  bottom  of  the  cup  was  an  N  topped 
by  a  crown.  The  cup  contained  hot  milk. 

Returning,  a  little  before,  from  a  drive,  he  had  been 
helped  up  the  steps,  into  the  hall,  into  the  chair.  He 
had  not  wished  to  be  helped  farther.  In  the  hall,  the 
milk  had  been  brought.  As  he  sipped  it,  he  looked 
placid,  dignified,  evil.  He  looked  very  much  like  a 
wicked  old  doge. 

"When  I  don't  move,  it  is  remarkable  how  well  I 
feel." 

His  son,  to  whom  he  spoke,  sat  in  a  sedan-chair 
which,  delicately  enamelled  without,  was  as  delicately 
upholstered  within.  Through  the  window  of  the  chair, 
only  the  young  man's  face  showed.  If  you  had  not 
known  better  you  might  have  mistaken  it  for  the  face 
of  a  lady  of  an  earlier,  a  politer,  though  not  of  a 
bloodier  age.  But  you  would  have  known  better.  The 
hair,  powdered  white,  was  absent;  so  too  were  the 
patches;  so  also  was  the  rouge. 

Behind  the  doge's  chair  a  servant  stood.  Adjacently 
was  a  malachite  bench.  Beyond  was  a  malachite  stair 
way.  The  elder  Paliser,  finishing  with  the  milk,  ex 
tended  the  cup.  The  servant  took  it  and  turned.  Re 
cesses,  back  of  the  stairway,  engulfed  him. 

Monty  Paliser  straightened.  The  movement  dis 
closed  his  collar,  the  white  of  his  tie. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  since  the  wed- 

156 


THE    PALISER    CASE  157 

ding.  He  had  motored  in  to  dine  at  the  Austens'. 
Cassy  had  seen  him  go  and  had  seen  too  uninterrupted 
hours  in  the  music-room.  The  prospect  was  consoling. 
But,  pending  the  dinner  and  with  an  ample  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  the  good,  he  had  looked  in  on  his  father 
whom  he  had  found  in  the  hall.  Nothing  filial  had 
motived  this  looking-in.  On  the  surface,  it  was  a 
visit  of  circumstance  such  as  one  gentleman  may  pay 
to  another.  But,  beneath  the  surface,  was  an  object 
which,  when  the  servant  and  the  cup  had  gone,  he 
approached. 

"I  hope  Benny  has  not  been  in  your  way." 
"Not  in  the  least.     I  told  him  to  go  back  to  you." 
"Is  he  still  here?" 
"I  haven't  an  idea." 
"You  might  send  him  to  Newport." 
"You  want  to  be  rid  of  him,  eh?" 
"The  Place  does  not  need  three  gardeners." 
The  old  man,  who  seemed  to  be  feeling  about  for 
something,  scowled.     "What  it  does  not  need  is  the 
atmosphere  that  you  are  giving  it.     You  may  go  to 
the  devil  your  own  way.     I  sha'n't  stop  you.     But  it 
puts  a  bad  taste  in  my  mouth  to  have  you  turn  it  into 
a  road-house.     Damn  it,  sir,  you  were  born  there." 
Through  the  window  of  the  sedan-chair,  the  young 
man  was  watching.     He  saw  it  coming  and  masked 
himself. 

"How  funny  of  Benny  to  give  you  such  an  idea." 
Then,  straight  at  him,  went  the  bomb. 

"It  was  not  a  gift.  What  I  got,  I  extracted.  Why 
don't  you  marry?  Eh?  Why  don't  you?  In  order 
that  you  might,  I  made  over  to  you  a  thing  or  two. 
I  wish  to  God,  I  hadn't.  But  perhaps  you  are  satis 
fied.  If  you  are,  well  and  good.  As  it  is,  unless 
you  marry,  I'll  leave  the  property  to  Sally's  brat  and 


158  THE    PALISER    CASE 

have  him  change  his  name.  By  Gad,  sir,  if  I  don't 
have  some  assurance  from  you  and  have  it  now,  I'll 
send  for  Jeroloman.  I  will  make  a  new  will  and  I'll 
make  it  to-night.  If  you  came  here  to  dine,  you  can 
stop  on  and  listen  to  it." 

The  bomb  was  full  of  fumes.  In  the  still  air  they 
floated.  But  in  throwing  it,  the  old  man's  scowl 
had  deepened.  It  had  become  a  grimace  that  creased 
every  wrinkle  into  prominence.  His  hand  had  gone  to 
his  chest.  Gasping,  he  held  it  there.  Then  presently 
it  fell.  His  features  relaxed  and  dryly,  in  an  even 
tone,  he  resumed :  "It  is  remarkable  how  well  I  feel, 
if  I  don't  talk.  Any  excitement  suffocates  me." 

In  the  trench,  that  the  sedan-chair  had  become, 
Monty  Paliser  tightened  the  mask.  "There  is  no  need 
for  any  excitement.  I  will  marry.  You  have  my 
word." 

On  the  great  blasoned  throne,  the  old  man  shifted. 
The  easy  victory  mollified  him.  "Ah!  You  dine 
here?" 

"Thank  you,  no.     I  am  dining  at  the  Austens'." 

"Where?"  the  elder  Paliser  asked.  He  had  heard 
but  he  wanted  it  repeated.  It  seemed  vaguely  prom 
ising. 

"At  the  Austens'.  You  may  remember  that  the 
pearl  of  the  household  was  engaged.  It's  off." 

Slowly  the  old  man  twisted.  "What  is?  The  en 
gagement  ?" 

"So  her  mother  told  me." 

"And  you  are  dining  there." 

"In  a  few  minutes." 

The  old  man  took  it  in,  turned  it  over.  It  seemed 
not  only  victory  but  peace,  and  peace  with  annexation. 

"Very  good  then.  I  draw  the  veil  over  your  road- 
house.  Put  the  young  woman  in  a  flat.  Put  her  in 


THE    PALISER    CASE  159 

two  flats.  Nobody  who  is  anybody  ever  sees  any 
thing  that  was  not  intended  for  them.  Don't  beat  the 
drum.  That  is  all  that  the  right  people  ask  and  all 

I  require,  except " 

He  paused,  considered  the  annexation  and  added :  "I 
wish  you  an  excellent  appetite.  Austen  himself  was 
a  drivelling  idiot  and  his  wife  used  to  be  a  rare  old  girl 
— is  still,  I  daresay — but  they  came  of  good  stock,  and 
the  daughter  has  looks  and  no  brains.  You  couldn't 
do  better." 

He  paused  again,  appeared  to  lose  himself  in  the 
past,  looked  up  and  suddenly  exclaimed :  "You  are 
ridiculous  in  that  damned  thing!  Oblige  me  by  get 
ting  out." 

The  young  man  extracted  himself  and  sat  down  on 
the  malachite  bench.  It  was  more  exposed  than  the 
trench  and  the  fumes  of  the  gas  bomb  that  his  father 
had  hurled  were  hazardous  still.  Additional  pro 
tection  from  them  was  needed  and  he  said :  "What  will 
you  do  about  Benny?" 

The  old  man  disliked  to  be  questioned.  On  the  arm 
of  his  chair  he  beat  with  his  fingers  a  quick,  brief 
tattoo. 

"Benny  belongs  to  the  Place.  His  father  served  me 
there.  His  grandfather  served  yours.  You  don't  get 
such  people  nowadays." 

Negligently  the  young  man  smoothed  his  tie.  "Very 
picturesque  and  feudal.  But  I  don't  want  him." 

His  father  did  not  seem  to  hear,  or  to  care.  He 
was  afar,  wandering  from  it.  "Ever  notice  that  he 
has  only  one  thumb?  Same  way  with  his  father. 
Probably  a  family  trait.  I  wish  there  were  more 
families  like  'em.  This  house  is  full  of  trollops  and 
rascals.  So  is  Newport.  The  house  at  Newport  i& 
full  of  rapscallions.  Believe  I'll  offer  it  to  the  Gov- 


160  THE    PALISER    CASE 

ernment  for  a  hospital.  I  wish  to  God  Sally  would 
come  over  and  run  it.  Do  you  ever  hear  from  her?*' 

The  young  man  stood  up.     "Never." 

"I  don't  doubt  she  is  well  rid  of  Balaguine.  I've 
run  into  a  baker's  dozen  of  Russian  princes.  All 
canaille.  What  she  wanted  to  marry  him  for,  God 
only  knows,  and  in  saying  that  I  exaggerate.  Nice 
mess  they  have  made  of  things  there.  Are  you  going? 
Oblige  me  by  touching  the  bell." 

The  young  man  touched  it  and,  while  he  was  at  it, 
something  else.  "Couldn't  you  oblige  me  by  shipping 
Benny  to  Newport?" 

The  old  man  motioned.  It  was  as  though  he  dis 
missed  it.  "My  compliments  to  her  mother  and  re 
member  that  I  have  your  word.  Don't  dilly-dally. 
Good  God,  sir,  can't  you  realise  that  any  day  now  you 
may  be  drafted?  You've  no  time  to  lose.  If  I  were 
your  age,  I'd  enlist  to-morrow.  Don't  stand  on  one 
foot,  you  make  me  nervous." 

The  son,  putting  on  a  white  glove,  got  back  at  it. 
"I  was  asking  you  about  Benny." 

Again  the  old  man  shifted.  "Hum!  Well!  Since 
you  make  a  point  of  it.  Yes.  I'll  send  him  to  New 
port." 

"You  won't  forget?" 

"I  never  forget,"  replied  the  old  man,  who,  from 
that  moment,  forgot  it  utterly — until  the  following 
night  when  throttlingly  it  leaped  at  him. 

Even  if  he  had  remembered,  it  could  only  have  de 
layed  the  course  of  events.  Benny  went  the  next  day 
and,  in  going,  merely  accelerated  a  drama  which  per 
haps  was  preordered. 

But  now,  from  behind  the  recesses  of  the  malachite 
stairway,  a  rascal  appeared  and  approached  and  opened 


THE    PALISER    CASE  161 

a  bronze  door,  from  which  a  young  gentleman  passed 
out  and  entered  his  car. 

It  was  dark  then,  darker  than  convenient.  There 
are  ways  that  are  obscure.  The  martyr  who  dis 
covered  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward,  died  unwept,  un- 
honoured,  unsung.  History  does  not  know  him.  Per 
haps  he  was  an  editor.  But  he  bequeathed  a  valid 
idea. 

As  the  car  swam  on,  Monty  Paliser  was  conscious 
of  it.  It  would,  he  reflected,  simplify  matters  very 
much  if  his  father  died  immediately.  He  had  no  ill- 
feeling  toward  him,  no  good-feeling,  no  feeling  what 
ever.  For  the  property  conveyed  to  him  and  other 
wise  bestowed,  he  had  no  gratitude.  These  gifts  were 
in  the  nature  of  things.  Gifts  similar  or  cognate  his 
father  had  received,  as  also  had  his  grandfather,  his 
great-grandfather  and  so  on  ab  initio.  They  were 
possessions  handed  down  and  handed  over  for  the 
greater  glory  of  the  House.  He  had  therefore  no 
gratitude  for  them.  When  the  time  came  he  would 
repeat  the  process  and  expect  no  gratitude  either. 
Meanwhile  though  the  gifts  were  adequate,  there  were 
more  en  route,  so  many  that  they  would  lift  him  within 
hailing  distance  of  the  richest  men  in  the  world. 
Though  whether  that  were  worth  five  minutes  of 
perplexity,  ten  minutes  of  tears,  a  row  and,  possibly, 
your  name  in  the  papers,  depended  on  the  point  of 
view. 

In  considering  it,  he  found  himself — and  very  much 
to  his  disgust — rememorating  a  moral  axiom :  Great 
wealth  is  a  great  burden.  The  axiom  was  a  favourite 
with  his  father,  who  had  sickened  him  with  it.  But 
on  its  heels  always  there  had  trod  a  variant.  "By  Gad, 
sir,  you  can  say  what  you  like,  it  puts  you  in  a  position 
to  tell  anybody  to  go  to  hell." 


162  THE    PALISER    CASE 

The  variant  had  a  lilt,  a  go,  a  flourish.  To  employ  a 
vulgarism  of  the  hour,  it  had  the  punch.  It  landed  you 
-and  between  the  eyes.  It  required  neither  commen 
taries  nor  explanation.  It  was  all  there.  It  was  tangi 
ble  as  a  brickbat,  self-evident  as  the  sun. 

In  admiring  it,  the  young  man  philosophised  sto 
ically.  Did  he  not  have  enough  for  that  already? 

Yes,  but  later?  Later  might  he  not  want  to  phil 
osophise  less  stoically  and  more  luxuriously?  It  was 
a  problem.  Meanwhile  there  was  Cassy.  He  had  no 
wish  to  lose  her.  Yet  about  him  already  was  the 
shadow  of  the  inevitable  draft  act.  That  was  not  a 
problem  merely,  it  was  a  pit. 

Meanwhile  there  was  Cassy  whom  he  did  not  wish 
to  lose.  She  was  delightful,  delectable,  delicious.  Not 
divine  though,  thank  heaven!  The  gleam  in  her  eyes 
could  be  quite  infernal.  The  gleam  heightened  a 
charm  which  in  itself  was  fugitive.  He  recognised 
that.  However  delicious  a  dish  may  be,  no  man  can 
feed  on  it  always.  Not  he  at  any  rate.  But,  for  the 
time  being,  it  was  very  appetising.  For  the  present,  it 
did  very  well.  On  the  other  hand,  Margaret  Austen 
represented  a  succession  of  courses  which,  in  addition 
to  being  appetising,  would  lift  him  to  a  parity  with  the 
super-rich. 

It  was  certainly  perplexing.  But  it  is  a  long  turning 
that  has  no  lane.  He  was  a  decent  whip  and  a  string 
made  up  of  Margaret  and  Cassy  was  one  that,  let  him 
alone  for  it,  he  could  handle. 

But  now  the  car  had  stopped.  Abandoning  per 
plexity,  he  went  on  and  up. 


XXII 

HERE  you  are!  Bright  and  late  as  usual!" 
In  her  fluted  voice,  with  her  agreeable  smile, 
Mrs.  Austen  greeted  him.  The  lady  was  attired  in  a 
manner  that  left  her  glitteringly  and  splendidly  bare. 
With  her,  in  the  cluttered  drawing-room,  were  Mar 
garet,  Kate  Schermerhorn,  Poppet  Bleecker,  Verelst, 
Cantillon  and  Ogston. 

"Will  you  take  my  daughter  out?"  Mrs.  Austen, 
with  that  smile,  continued.  "Oh !"  she  interrupted  her 
self  to  remark.  "You  have  not  congratulated  Mr. 
Cantillon.  Has  no  little  bird  told  you  ?  It's  this  dear 
child  Kate.  Just  now — don't  you  think? — engage 
ments,  like  lilacs,  are  in  the  air."  She  turned  to  Verelst. 
"Grey  deceiver!" 

Verelst  crooked  his  arm.  "However  much  I  tried 
to  deceive,  I  got  grey  before  I  could." 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  Mrs.  Austen  with 
her  tireless  smile  enquired  of  Paliser,  who,  after  speak 
ing  to  the  girls,  had  said  something  to  Cantillon. 

"Somersaults  being  a  specialty  of  his,  I  was  telling 
him  that  now  is  the  time  for  a  triple  one." 

Paliser  turned  to  Margaret.  She  had  said  noth 
ing.  She  was  very  pale.  Mute,  white,  blonde,  she 
Was  a  vision. 

At  table,  Verelst,  addressing  him,  asked :  "How  is 
your  father  ?" 

"Thank  you.  Enjoying  his  usual  poor  health."  He 
turned  again  to  Margaret.  "No  one  could  mistake  my 
father  for  an  auctioneer.  He  has  so  few  admirations. 
But  he  knew  your  father  and  admired  him  greatly." 

163 


164  THE    PALISER    CASE 

Margaret  made  no  reply.  She  was  thinking  of  the 
land  of  Splendours  and  Terrors,  where  the  princess  sat 
in  chains.  Margaret  envied  her.  Over  the  hill  the 
true  knight  was  hastening  and  Margaret  knew,  as  we 
all  know,  what  happened  then.  It  is  a  very  pretty 
story,  but  it  can  be  equally  sad  to  a  sorrowing  girl  who 
has  no  true  knight,  or  who  had  one,  and  who  found 
that  he  was  neither  knightly  nor  true. 

Paliser  misconstrued  her  silence.  About  her  eyes 
and  mouth  was  an  expression  that  is  displayed  by  those 
who  have  suffered  from  some  long  malady  or  from 
some  perilous  constraint.  That  also  he  misconstrued. 
He  had  been  told  she  had  washed  her  hands  of  Len 
nox  and  had  washed  them  with  the  soap  of  indiffer 
ence,  which  is  the  most  effective  of  all.  He  was  not 
credulous  but  he  had  believed  it.  The  idea  that  her 
throat  was  choked  and  her  heart  a  haunt  of  regret, 
did  not  occur  to  this  subtle  young  man.  He  attributed 
both  her  silence  and  her  expression  to  neuralgia.  The 
latter  did  not  disturb  him.  But  her  loveliness  did.  It 
inundated  him.  The  gallery  of  his  memory  was  hung 
with  fair  faces.  Her  face  exceeded  them  all. 

The  dinner  proceeded.  Presently,  Kate  Schermer- 
horn  called  over  at  him.  "Who  was  the  damsel  I  saw 
you  making  up  to  in  the  Park  the  other  day?" 

Paliser  turned  to  her.     "I  have  forgotten.'* 

"I  don't  wonder.  You  seemed  to  have  lost  your 
head." 

"Probably  then  because  it  wasn't  you/' 

"Fiddlesticks!  You  looked  as  though  you  could 
cut  your  throat  for  her.  Didn't  you  feel  that  way? 
I  am  sure  you  did." 

"You  must  be  thinking  of  Cantillon.  That's  the 
way  he  looks  at  you.  If  he  didn't,  he  wouldn't  have 


THE   PALISER   CASE  165 

any  feeling  at  all.  One  might  even  say  he  was  quite 
heartless." 

Kate  was  laughing.  In  laughing  she  showed  her 
red  mouth  and  her  teeth,  small,  white,  a  trifle  uneven, 
and,  though  she  continued  to  show  them,  her  laughter 
ceased.  With  her  red  mouth  open,  she  stared.  That 
mouth  closed,  opened  again.  She  was  saying  some 
thing. 

Everybody  was  exclaiming.  All  were  hurriedly  get 
ting  up. 

Paliser  turned  to  Margaret.     She  had  gone. 

Verelst  now  was  between  him  and  her  chair.  He 
was  bending  over.  Bending  also  was  Mrs.  Austen. 
On  the  other  side  were  Cantillon,  Ogston  and  Miss 
Bleecker. 

Then,  as  the  surprise  of  it  lifted  Paliser,  he  saw  that 
they  were  lifting  her. 

"Brandy !"  said  Verelst.     "Tell  the  man." 

"Permit  me!"  Without  officiousness,  without 
noticeable  shoves,  Paliser  got  among  them  and  got  on 
his  knees  beside  the  girl  whom  Verelst  and  Mrs. 
Austen  were  supporting. 

Mrs.  Austen  wanted  to  wink  at  him.  Instead,  she 
made  way.  He  took  her  place,  took  the  girl  in  his 
arms  and  thought  he  would  like  to  keep  her  there — 
though  not,  of  course,  forever.  But  he  said :  "The 
other  room,  perhaps." 

Margaret's  head  was  on  his  shoulder.  She  raised 
it.  Her  eyes  had  opened.  She  looked  at  him,  at  the 
arms  that  were  about  her.  A  shudder  shook  her. 
Verelst  stretched  a  hand,  Ogston  another.  With  them, 
but  otherwise  without  effort,  she  stood  up. 

Cantillon  exclaimed  at  her.  "Right  as  rain  again! 
I  say,  Miss  Austen,  you  did  give  us  a  start !" 

Yet  at  once,  and  so  endearingly,  with  the  air  of  an 


166  THE   PALISER   CASE 

elder  sister,  Mrs.  Austen  resumed  the  maternal  func 
tions.  "Dearest  child,  you  have  been  overdoing  it!" 

Kate  patted  the  girl.  "Margaret !  I  nearly  fainted 
too.  I  was  looking  at  you.  You  went  over  like  that !" 

"Sorry,"  said  Margaret  evenly.  Her  hands  had 
gone  to  the  back  of  her  head.  She  dropped  them  and 
added:  "If  you  will  excuse  me." 

Lovingly  her  mother  dismissed  her.  "The  smelling- 
salts!  You  will  find  them  somewhere."  The  lady 
looked  about.  "Shall  we  have  coffee  in  the  other 
room?  You  men  can  smoke  there  if  you  like,  or  here 
if  you  prefer." 

It  was  quite  modern.  But  Verelst  was  old,  there 
fore  old-fashioned.  He  preferred  the  dining-room. 
Already  the  girls  had  followed  Margaret.  Mrs.  Aus 
ten  passed  out.  Verelst  sat  down.  So  also  did  Can- 
tillon  and  Ogston.  But  Paliser,  who  had  nothing  to 
say  to  them,  accompanied  Mrs.  Austen. 

"It  never  happened  to  her  before,"  she  told  him. 
"Where  shall  you  sit?  Here,  by  me?"  In  speaking 
she  made  room  on  the  sofa  and  with  amiable  sus 
picion  eyed  him.  "You  hadn't  said  anything  to  her, 
had  you?" 

Paliser  shook  his  handsome  head.     "I  wanted  to." 

Pleasantly  she  invited  it.     "Yes?" 

"I  wanted  to  ask  her  to  marry  me." 

There  he  was  dangling,  and  what  a  fish !  The  dear 
woman  licked  her  chops,  not  vulgarly,  of  course,  but 
mentally. 

Paliser,  who  knew  perfectly  well  what  she  was  at, 
smiled  tantalisingly.  "It  is  beastly  to  boast,  but  I  am 
an  epicure." 

What  in  the  world  does  he  mean?  the  dear  woman 
wondered.  But  she  said :  "Of  course  you  are." 

Paliser,  who  was  enjoying  himself  hugely,  resumed: 


THE   PALISER   CASE  167 

"An  epicure,  you  know,  postpones  the  finest  pleasures. 
He  does  so  sometimes  because  of  the  enchantment  of 
distance  and  again  because  he  can't  help  himself.  That 
has  been  my  case." 

It  was  fully  a  moment  before  Mrs.  Austen  got  it. 
Then  she  said:  "But  I  told  you,  didn't  I?  Mr.  Len 
nox  is  dead  and  buried." 

It  was  quick  work.  Paliser,  admiring  her  agility, 
laughed.  "So  recently  though!  The  immortelles 
have  not  had  time  to  fade." 

That  would  have  made  a  saint  swear!  Not  being 
a  saint,  Mrs.  Austen  contented  herself  with  virtuous 
surprise.  "But  there  were  none !  I  told  you  that.  I 
told  you  that  any  attraction  he  may  have  had  for  my 
child,  he  shocked  straight  out  of  her.  Not  deliber 
ately.  Dear  me,  I  would  not  have  you  fancy  such  a 
thing  for  a  moment.  Nor  would  I  misjudge  him.  I 
hope  I  am  too  conscientious.  But  such  interest  as  the 
child  had  in  him — an  interest  I  need  hardly  say  that 
was  girlish  and  immature — he  destroyed." 

The  picture,  bold  but  crude,  had  its  defects.  To 
remedy  them,  Mrs.  Austen  applied  the  brush.  "That 
singing-girl!  You  know  whom  I  mean.  I  saw  you 
with  her  the  night  we  went  to  the  Bazaar." 

Paliser  nodded.  He  knew  indeed!  He  knew  too 
that,  for  a  moment,  he  had  fancied  that  Cassy  was  in 
love  with  Lennox.  But  that  idea  he  had  long  since 
abandoned  and  what  she  could  now  be  doing  in  this 
galley  intrigued  him. 

With  a  free  hand  Mrs.  Austen  laid  on  the  colours. 
"You  will  hardly  credit  it,  but  we  as  good  as  caught 
him  with  her.  As  good  or  as  bad.  It  is  a  matter  of 
taste.  For  me  it  was  very  painful.  A  woman  should 
be  spared  such  an  experience.  As  for  Margaret,  while 
the  child  certainlv  did  not  understand — how  could  she? 


168  THE    PALISER   CASE 

— yet,  even  in  her  innocence,  she  realised — well — that 
he  is  just  what  you  said." 

It  was  a  bit  thick  and  Paliser  began  to  laugh. 

Mrs.  Austen  saw  that  he  did  not  believe  her.  The 
fact  annoyed  and  in  vexation  she  piled  it  on.  "After 
ward,  in  this  very  room,  I  taxed  him  with  it  and  he 
admitted  it." 

What  a  lie !  thought  Paliser,  who  specialised  in  that 
article.  But,  a  second  thought  prompting,  he  won 
dered  whether  it  were  a  lie.  His  knowledge  of  Cassy 
refuted  it.  At  the  same  time,  where  women  are  con 
cerned,  you  never  know.  One  thing,  however,  he  did 
know.  In  his  quality  of  expert  he  knew  that  there 
are  statements  which,  whether  true  or  false,  may  come 
in  handy  and,  comfortably,  he  smiled. 

"So  that  was  the  reason  why  the  engagement  was 
broken." 

"What  more  would  you  have?"  replied  the  candid 
creature,  who  now  felt  that  he  had  swallowed  it. 

Quite  as  comfortably,  Paliser  returned  to  his  mut 
tons.  "I  may  cease  then  to  be  an  epicure?" 

There  was  the  fish  again,  but  how  to  land  him?  The 
glittering  fisherlady  could  not  bind  and  gag  the  bait 
and  drop  her  into  his  mouth.  At  any  such  attempt,  the 
bait  would  pack  and  go,  might  even  go  without  pack 
ing.  Yet  there  was  the  fish,  eager,  willing,  the  gills 
awiggle.  Barring  a  few  gold-fish  in  Bradstreet,  in 
Burke  and  in  Lempriere,  this  fish  was  the  pick  of  the 
basket.  To  see  him  glide  away,  and  for  no  other 
earthly  reason  than  because  the  bait  refused  to  be 
hooked,  was  simply  inhuman.  Flesh  and  blood  could 
not  stand  it.  No,  nor  ingenuity  either.  Instantly  the 
angler  saw  that  in  default  of  bait,  a  net  may  do  the 
trick  and,  with  the  ease  of  a  prestidigitateur,  she  pro 
duced  one. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  169 

"You  have  my  blessing!" 

Paliser  laughed  and  bowed.  He  was  in  it,  it  was 
where  he  wanted  to  be  and  he  liked  it.  But  in  view 
of  existing  domestic  arrangements,  he  was  in  it  a  bit 
too  soon  and,  wriggling  through  a  mesh,  he  stopped 
laughing  and  looked  solemn. 

"You  are  very  good.  But  beforehand  my  father 
will  expect  to  be  consulted  and,  just  at  present,  that  is 
impossible.  The  physicians  would  forbid  it." 

"The  poor  dear  old  man !     You  don't  mean " 

Paliser  half  raised  a  hand.  The  gesture  was  slight 
but  expressive.  One  never  knew! 

But  so  much  the  better,  thought  Mrs.  Austen.  Pend 
ing  the  delay  she  could  so  bombard  the  bait,  bombard 
her  day  in,  day  out,  and  the  whole  night  through,  that, 
like  Liege  and  Namur,  her  resistance  would  crumble, 
and  meanwhile  he  would  come  in  for  everything,  or 
nearly  everything,  she  reflected,  and  the  reflection 
prompting,  she  affected  concern. 

"Has  your  sister  been  informed?" 

"I  cabled  her  to-day,"  said  Paliser,  who  had  done 
nothing  of  the  kind. 

With  the  same  concern,  Mrs.  Austen  lied  as  freely. 
"It  is  too  sad  for  words."  But  at  once  the  air  of  the 
sympathiser  departed,  replaced  by  that  of  the  hostess. 
Through  one  door  the  men  were  entering.  Through 
another  came  the  girls. 

Kate  Schermerhorn  approached.  "Dear  Mrs.  Aus 
ten,  Margaret's  all  right,  but  she  has  a  headache."  As 
she  spoke,  she  threw  a  glance  at  Cantillon. 

Poppet  Bleecker  also  approached.  "It  is  too  bad, 
Margaret  is  such  a  dear !  I  would  like  to  stop  on  but 
they  tell  me  my  maid  is  here.  Thank  you  so  much, 
dear  Mrs.  Austen. 

The  lady  stood  up.     "But  you  are  not  all  going!" 


170  THE    PALISER    CASE 

They  all  were  though.  She  knew  it  and  was  glad  of 
it.  The  object  of  the  dinner  was  achieved  and  achieve 
ment,  however  satisfactory,  is  fatiguing.  "You  too!n 
she  successively  exclaimed  at  Ogston  and  Cantillon, 
"And  you  also !"  she  exclaimed  at  Paliser,  to  whom, 
dropping  her  voice,  she  added :  "If  possible,  remember 
me  to  him." 

As  they  went,  Verelst  surveyed  her.  He  stood 
against  the  mantel,  his  back  to  the  empty  grate. 

Turning  she  saw  him.     "Well,  what  now?" 

Verelst,  adjusting  his  glasses,  said,  and  distantly 
enough :  "What  now?  No,  what  next?" 

Mrs.  Austen  sat  down.  "Peter,  if  you  ever  loved 
me,  don't  adopt  that  tone." 

"It  is  not  the  tone,  it  is  the  tune  and  the  tune  is 
yours." 

"Tune?  What  tune?  What  on  earth  are  you  talk 
ing  about?" 

"The  tune  to  which  the  dinner  was  set.  I  heard 
it.  Margaret  heard  it.  It  knocked  her  out." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him,  made  them  pathetic. 
"Peter,  I  haven't  a  penny." 

"You  have  twenty  thousand  a  year." 

"Nineteen,  not  a  dollar  more,  and  that  is  genteel 
poverty  and  there's  nothing  genteel  in  poverty  now." 

Verelst  tugged  at  his  moustache.  "Tell  me  this. 
Is  she  to  marry  him?" 

In  affected  surprise,  she  started.  "How  you  do 
jump  at  conclusions." 

Angrily  he  nodded.  "I  appear  to  have  jumped  at 
the  correct  one." 

But  his  anger  had  gained  her.  She  faced  him. 
"Heavens  and  earth!  What  have  you  against  him? 
What  have  you  all  against  him  ?  My  eyes  are  as  good 
as  any  one's.  I  can't  see  it." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  171 

"You  might  feel  it  then." 

"Feel  what?" 

Verelst  tugged  again  at  his  moustache.  He  had 
never  heard  of  elementals  and,  if  he  had  heard,  he 
would  not  have  believed  in  them.  He  knew  nothing 
of  aurse — which  photography  has  captured.  He  was 
very  old  fogy.  But  he  knew  an  honest  man  when 
he  saw  one  and  a  gentleman  before  he  opened  his 
mouth. 

"Feel  what?"  Mrs.  Austen  repeated. 

Verelst,  thrashing  about,  could  not  get  it,  but  he 
said :  "I  can't  describe  it,  but  it's  something.  His 
father  had  it.  He " 

"His  father  is  at  death's  door." 

"Ah!  Is  he?  Well,' I'm  sorry  for  that.  M.  P. 
used  to  be  no  better  than  the  law  allows — and  the  law 
is  very  lenient." 

"You  were  too." 

"I  daresay.  But  M.  P.  has  got  over  it.  Without 
boasting,  I  think  I  have  also.  But  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  In  the  old  days,  I  have  seen  people  shrink 
from  him." 

"Nonsense!     Precious  little  shrinking  I  ever  did." 

"Timidity  was  never  one  of  your  many  virtues." 

"Don't  be  coarse,  Peter,  and  if  possible  don't  be 
stupid.  If  you  know  anything  against  Monty,  say  it. 
I  may  find  it  in  his  favour." 

Impatiently  Verelst  motioned.  "Decent  men  avoid 
him." 

"And  you !"  Mrs.  Austen  retorted.  "What  do  you 
call  yourself?  You  are  always  civil  to  him." 

Verelst  showed  his  teeth.  "One  of  the  few  things 
life  has  taught  me  is  to  be  civil  to  everybody." 

"Except  to  me.  Now  do  sit  down  and  make  your 
self  uncomfortable.  You  have  made  me  uncomfort- 


172  THE    PALISER   CASE 

able  enough.     Any  one  might  think  you  a  country  par 


son." 


But  Verelst,  scowling  at  the  dial  which  the  legs  of 
the  nymph  upheld,  removed  his  glasses.  "I  am  going." 
He  moved  to  the  door,  stopped,  half  turned,  motioned 
again.  "Tell  Margaret  I  would  rather  see  her  in  her 
coffin." 

Angrily  she  started.  "I'll  tell  her  nothing  of  the 
kind." 

It  was  his  back  that  she  addressed.  She  saw  him 
go,  saw  too  her  anger  go  with  him.  The  outer  door 
had  not  closed  before  the  tune  of  which  he  had  spoken 
was  dispersing  it. 

But  was  it  a  tune?  It  seemed  something  far  rarer. 
In  it  was  a  whisper  of  waters,  the  lap  of  waves,  the 
muffled  voice  of  a  river,  which,  winding  from  hill  to 
sea,  was  pierced  by  a  note  very  high,  very  clear,  en 
tirely  limpid,  a  note  that  had  in  it  the  gaiety  of  a  sun 
beam,  a  note  that  mounted  in  loops  of  light,  expand 
ing  as  it  mounted,  until,  bursting  into  jets  of  fire,  it 
drew  from  the  stream's  deepest  depths  the  sonority  and 
glare  of  its  riches. 

The  ripple  of  it  ran  down  the  spine  of  this  woman, 
who  at  heart  was  a  Hun  and  to  whom  the  harmonies 
disclosed,  not  the  mythical  gleam  of  the  Rheingold, 
but  the  real  radiance  of  the  Paliser  wealth. 

At  the  glow  of  it  she  rubbed  her  hands. 


XXIII 

I"N  the  club  window,  on  the  following  afternoon, 
-*•  Jones  was  airing  copy. 

"Capua  must  have  been  packed  with  yawns.  It  is 
the  malediction  of  mortals  to  want  what  they  lack  until 
they  get  it,  when  they  want  it  no  more.  Epicurus 
said  that  or,  if  he  did  not,  Lucretius  said  it  for  him. 
'Surgit  amari  aliquid.'  But  here  I  am  running  into 
quotations  when  the  only  ones  that  interest  anybody 
are  those  in  the  Street.  Conditions  here  are  revolt 
ing.  Nowhere  at  any  time  has  there  been  a  metrop 
olis  that  so  stank  to  heaven.  The  papers  drip  with 
stocks  and  scandals  and  over  there,  before  the  massed 
artillery,  the  troops  are  wheeling  down  to  death.  But 
wheeling  is  perhaps  poetic.  The  Marne  was  the  last 
battle  in  the  grand  style." 

"I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  Capua,"  said 
Verelst. 

"Nor  I,"  Jones  replied.  "But,  come  to  think  of  it, 
there  is  a  connection.  In  Capua  everybody  yawned 
their  heads  off.  In  Flanders  and  Champagne  they  are 
shot  off.  Life  swings  like  a  pendulum  between  bore" 
dom  and  pain.  When  the  world  is  not  anaemic,  it  is 
delirious.  If  ever  again  its  pulse  registers  normal, 
sensible  people  will  go  back  to  Epicurus,  whose  exist^ 
ence  was  one  long  lesson  in  mental  tranquillity.  By  the 
Lord  Harry,  the  more  I  consider  it,  the  more  con- 

i73 


174  THE    PALISER   CASE 

vinced  I  become  that  there  is  nothing  else  worth 
having.  Niente,  nada,  rien.  Nothing  whatever/' 

Verelst  smiled.  "In  that  case  it  is  hardly  worth 
while  getting  excited  over  it."  He  raised  the  lapel  of 
his  coat.  There  were  violets  in  it.  He  took  a  whiff 
and  added:  "Has  Lennox  been  here  to-day?" 

But  Jones  did  not  know. 

Regretfully,  Verelst  continued :  "He  goes  to  Min- 
eola  to-morrow  and  soon  he  will  be  over  the  top." 

Jones  lit  a  cigarette.  "Assuming  that  he  gets  back, 
the  women  will  be  mad  about  him.  Some  of  them  at 
any  rate." 

Verelst  rolled  an  enquiring  eye. 

"Of  course  they  will,"  Jones  resumed.  "Times 
have  changed  precious  little  since  Victor  Hugo. 

'Les  belles  ont  le  gout  des  heros.    Le  sabreur 

Effroyable,  trainant  apres  lui  tant  d'horreur 

Qu'il  ferait  reculer  jusqu'a  la  sombre  Hecate, 

Charme  la  plus  timide  et  la  plus  delicate. 

Sur  ce,  battez  tambours !  Ce  qui  plait  a  la  bouche 

De  la  blonde  auxf  yeux  doux,  c'est  le  baiser  farouche. 

La  femme  se  fait  faire  avec  joie  un  enfant, 

Par  rhomme  qui  tua,  sinistre  et  triomphant. 

Et  c'est  la  volupte  de  toutes  ces  colombes 

D'ouvrir  leur  lit  a  ceux  qui  font  ouvrir  les  tombes/ 

"What  rhythm !  What  music !  The  score  is  Napo 
leonic  but " 

"Hello!"  Verelst  interrupted.  Before  the  window 
a  car  had  passed.  He  was  looking  at  it.  On  the  back 
seat  was  a  man  in  a  high  hat  and  an  overcoat.  "M.  P. !" 
he  exclaimed. 

"What  of  it?"  Jones  asked. 

Verelst  removed  his  glasses  and  looked  distrust- 


THE    PALISER    CASE  175 

fully  at  them.  It  was  as  though  he  doubted  their 
vision.  Then,  after  a  moment  he  said :  "Last  night  I 
heard  he  was  dying." 

"Which,"  Jones  remarked,  "is  the  aim,  the  object 
and  the  purpose  of  life.  But  apparently  he  has  not 
achieved  it  yet.  Apparently  also  you  are  a  futurist. 
The  Napoleonic  score  did  not  interest  you." 

Verelst,  resuming  his  glasses,  replied:  "It  would 
not  interest  Lennox,  if  that  is  what  you  mean.  He 
has  been  hit  too  hard." 

Jones  nodded.  He  knew  all  about  it.  It  had  even 
suggested  a  story,  a  famous  story;  one  that  was  told 
in  Babylon  and  has  been  retold  ever  since;  the  story 
of  lovers  vilely  parted  in  the  beginning  and  virtuously 
united  at  the  end.  It  is  a  highly  original  story,  to 
which  anybody  can  give  a  fresh  twist  and  Jones  had 
planned  to  have  the  hero  killed  at  the  front  and  the 
heroine  marry  the  villain,  but  only  to  divorce  the 
latter  before  the  hero — whose  death  had  been  falsely 
gazetted — limps  in. 

But  Jones  knew  his  trade.  He  knew  that  the  reader 
always  balks  unless  the  hero  gets  the  heroine  first 
hand  and  he  had  thought  of  making  the  villain  an 
invalid.  Yet  at  that  too  he  knew  the  reader  would 
balk.  The  reader  is  so  nice-minded! 

Now,  the  plot  recurring,  he  said  to  Verelst :  "Your 
knowledge  of  women  has,  I  am  sure,  made  you  in 
dulgent." 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"But " 

"Look  here,"  Verelst  interrupted.  "When  I  was 
young  and  consequently  very  experienced,  I  was  in 
dulgent.  But  monsters  change  you.  Last  night  I 
dined  with  one." 


176  THE    PALISER    CASE 

"Enviable  mortal !" 

"You  remember  Abraham?"  Verelst  continued. 
"His  name  was  Abraham — wasn't  it? — that  benevolent 
old  man  in  the  Bible  who  made  the  sacrifice  of  sacri 
ficing  an  animal  instead  of  his  son?  Well,  last  night 
it  seemed  to  me  that  there  are  women  Abrahams,  only 
less  benevolent.  The  altar  was  veiled,  the  knife  was 
concealed,  but  the  victim  was  there — a  girl  for  whom, 
at  your  age,  I  would  have  died,  or  offered  to  die,  which 
amounts  to  the  same  thing.  What  is  more  to  the 
point,  at  your  age,  or  no,  for  you  are  much  older  than 
your  conversation  would  lead  one  to  believe,  but  in 
my  careless  days  I  offered  to  die  for  her  mother.  I 
swore  I  could  not  live  without  her.  That  is  always 
a  mistake.  It  is  too  flattering,  besides  being  untrue. 
Perhaps  she  so  regarded  it.  In  any  event  another 
man  fared  better  or  worse.  Afterward,  time  and 
again,  he  said  to  me :  'Peter,  for  God's  sake,  run  away 
with  her/  Am  I  boring  you?" 

"Enormously." 

"Well,  he  was  very  gentlemanly  about  it.  Without 
making  a  fuss  at  home,  he  went  away  and  died  in  a 
hospital.  She  was  very  grateful  to  him  for  that.  But 
her  gratitude  waned  when  she  came  in  for  his  money. 
It  was  adequate  but  not  opulent,  the  result  being  that 
she  tried  to  train  her  daughter  for  the  great  matri 
monial  steeplechase.  Just  here  the  plot  thickens.  Re 
cently  the  filly  shied,  took  the  bit  in  her  teeth  and — 
hurrah,  boys ! — she  was  off  on  her  own,  until  her 
mother  jockied  her  up  to  a  hurdle  that  she  could  not 
take  and  the  filly  came  a  cropper.  But  her  mother  was 
still  one  too  many  for  her.  She  had  her  up  in  a  jiffy 
and  now  she  is  heading  her  straight  for  the  sweep 
stakes." 


THE   PALISER   CASE  177 

"Excuse  me,'*  Jones  with  affected  meekness  put 
in.  "I  assume  that  the  sacrificial  victim  and  the  filly 
are  one  and  the  same." 

"Your  perspicacity  does  you  much  credit." 

Jones  laughed.  "I  have  my  little  talents.  But  you ! 
The  wizardry  with  which  you  mix  metaphors  is  beau 
tiful.  You  produce  a  dinner-table  and  transform  it 
into  an  altar  which  instantly  becomes  a  racecourse. 
That  is  what  I  call  genius.  But  to  an  every-day  sort 
of  chap  like  me,  would  you  mind  being  less  cryptic?'' 

"Can  you  keep  a  secret  ?" 

"Yes." 

"So  can  I." 

Again  Jones  laughed.  "Not  in  my  neighbourhood. 
You  were  talking  of  Lennox  and  drifted  from  him 
into  the  Bible.  Your  thoughts  of  the  one  recalled 
studies  of  the  other  and  at  once  you  had  Abraham's 
daughter  downed  on  the  racecourse.  Well,  she  won't 
be." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  it  is  my  business  to  see  things  before  they 
occur.  Miss  Austen " 

"I  never  mentioned  her,"  Verelst  heatedly  ex 
claimed.  "You  have  no  right  to " 

"I  admit  it.  But  because  of  Lennox  the  whole  mat 
ter  has  preoccupied  me  and  quite  as  much,  I  daresay^ 
as  it  has  distressed  you." 

"I  don't  see  at  all  what  you  have  to  do  with  it" 

"Perhaps  not.  But  preoccupation  may  lead  to 
crystal-gazing.  Now  I  will  wager  a  red  pippin  that 
I  can  tell  what  you  said  at  the  steeplechase  to  the 
steeplestakes.  You  asked  after  his  father." 

Verelst  stared.     A  man  of  the  world  and,  as  such, 


178  THE   PALISER   CASE 

at  his  ease  in  any  circumstances,  none  the  less  he  was 
startled.  "How  in  God's  name  did  you  get  that?" 

"It  is  very  simple.  Five  minutes  ago  his  father 
sailed  by.  You  made  a  remark  about  him.  The  re 
mark  suggested  a  train  of  thought  which  landed  you  at 
the  racecourse  where  you  saw,  or  intimated  that  you 
saw,  the  steeplestakes.  But  what  visible  sweepstakes 
are  there  except  M.  P.'s  son?  You  and  M.  P.  are 
friends.  It  is  only  natural  that  you  should  ask  about 
him." 

Verelst  turned  uneasily.  "I  don't  yet  see  how  you 
got  it.  The  only  thing  I  said  is  that  I  heard  he  was 
dying." 

"And  five  minutes  ago  you  exclaimed  at  his  resur 
rection.  There  is  a  discrepancy  there  that  is  very  sug 
gestive." 

"It  is  none  of  my  making  then." 

"It  is  none  the  less  suggestive.  The  death-bed  was 
invented." 

"M.  P.  may  have  recovered." 

"Yes,  men  of  his  age  make  a  practice  of  jumping 
into  their  death-bed  and  then  jumping  out.  It  is 
good  for  them.  It  keeps  them  in  training." 

"Oh,  rubbish !"  Verelst  resentfully  exclaimed. 

"No,"  Jones  pursued.  "The  story  was  invented  and 
the  invention  had  a  reason.  If  you  like,  you  may  ask 
what  it  is." 

"You  seem  to  be  very  good  at  invention  yourself.  I 
shall  ask  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"But  you  would  like  to  know  and  I  will  tell  you.  It 
was  invented  to  delay  a  possible  announcement.  It 
could  have  had  no  other  object." 

"I   said   nothing   of  any  announcement,"   Verelst 


THE   PALISER   CASE  179 

angrily  protested.  "What  anouncement  are  you  talk 
ing  about?" 

"The  heading  of  the  filly  for  the  sweepstakes.  The 
expression — very  graphic  by  the  way — is  your  own." 

"Graphic  or  not  I  wish  you  would  drop  it.  Be 
sides " 

"Besides  what?" 

"Why,  confound  it,  admitting  the  engagement, 
which  I  ought  not  to  admit  for  it  is  not  out  yet,  why 
should  he  play  for  delay?" 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Jones,  whom  the  spectacle  of 
Paliser  and  Cassy  sailing  up  the  Riverside  had  sup 
plied  with  an  impression  or  two.  "I  thought  I  would 
interest  you.  He  played  for  delay  because  he  feared 
that  if  it  were  known,  a  pitcher  of  ice-water  might 
come  dashing  over  it." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  asked  Verelst,  eager  and 
anxious  enough  for  a  spoke — if  spoke  there  could  be 
— to  shove  in  a  certain  lady's  wheels. 

"Given  the  man  and  the  deduction  is  easy." 

The  spoke  was  receding.  Verelst,  swallowing  his 
disappointment,  retorted:  "Incoherence  is  easy  too." 

"Well,  you  are  right  there,"  Jones,  lighting  another 
cigarette,  replied.  "But  there  is  nothing  incoherent 
in  the  fact  that  fear  is  magnetic.  What  we  dread,  we 
attract.  If  our  winning  young  friend  fears  the  pitcher, 
the  pitcher  will  probably  land  on  him.  That  is  the 
reason  why,  to  vary  your  various  metaphors,  I  de 
clared  that  there  would  be  no  downing  on  the  race 
course.  On  the  contrary  and  look  here.  I  will  wager 
you  not  one  pippin  or  two  pippins,  I  will  go  so  far  as 
to  lay  a  whole  basket  that  Miss  Austen  becomes  Mrs. 
Lennox." 

Verelst  sniffed.     "You  don't  know  her  mother." 


i8o  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"No.  I  have  not  that  honour.  But  I  enjoy  a  bow 
ing  acquaintance  with  logic." 

"Do  you,  now?  I  wonder  if  it  bows  back.  I'll 
book  your  bet." 

"Very  good.     Make  it  fancy  pippins." 

Verelst  stood  up.  "Fancy  is  the  only  term  that 
could  be  applied  them." 

"And  of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,"  Jones 
told  himself  as  the  old  man  moved  away. 

He  looked  about.  The  great  room  had  filled. 
Stocks,  money,  war,  the  odour  of  alcohol,  the  smell 
of  cigars,  the  rustling  of  evening  papers,  the  sound  of 
animated  talk  about  nothing  whatever,  the  usual  atmos 
phere  had  reassembled  itself. 

From  it  he  turned  to  the  window,  to  the  westering 
sun,  to  the  motors,  the  smart  gowns  and  the  women 
who  looked  so  delightful  and  of  whom  all  had  their 
secrets — secrets  trivial,  momentous,  perverse  or  merely 
horrible. 

Again  he  turned.  Lennox,  who  had  approached, 
was  addressing  him.  "You  were  at  the  law  school.  I 
have  to  make  a  will.  Will  you  help  me?" 

Serviceably  Jones  sprang  up.  "Come  to  my  shop. 
It  is  just  around  the  corner  " 


XXIV 

AMONG  the  old  brocades  with  which  the  room  was 
fitted  and  which,  together  with  the  silver  bed 
and  the  enamelled  faience,  gave  it  an  earlier  century 
air,  Cassy  stood  before  a  cheval-glass. 

She  was  properly  dressed.  Her  costume,  light 
cloth,  faintly  blue,  was  exquisitely  embroidered.  Be 
neath  it  was  lingerie  of  the  kind  which,  it  is  said,  may 
be  drawn  through  a  ring.  Behind  and  between  was 
Cassy,  on  whose  docked  hair  sat  a  hat  that  was  very 
unbecoming  and  therefore  equally  smart. 

A  moment  before  she  had  thanked  and  dismissed 
Emma.  Emma  was  the  maid.  With  a  slant  of  the 
eye,  that  said  and  suppressed  many  things,  Emma  had 
gone. 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  call  of  birds, 
the  smell  of  fresh  turf.  A  patch  of  sky  was  visible. 
It  was  tenderly  blue.  There  was  a  patch  too  of  grass 
that  showed  an  asparagus  green. 

From  the  mirror  Cassy  went  to  a  table  and,  from 
a  jade  platter,  took  a  ring.  It  was  made  of  six  little 
hoops  each  set  with  small  stones.  She  put  it  on.  The 
platter  held  other  rings.  There  was  a  sapphire,  inch- 
long,  deep  and  dark.  She  put  that  on.  There  was 
also  an  Australian  opal  and  an  Asian  emerald,  the 
latter  greener  than  the  grass.  She  put  these  on. 
Together  with  the  wedding-ring  they  made  quite  a 
show.  Too  much  of  a  show,  she  thought. 

181 


182  THE    PALISER    CASE 

Like  the  costume,  the  hat,  like  other  costumes,  more 
hats  and  box  after  box  of  lingerie,  they  had  all  sur 
prisingly  dumped  themselves,  there,  at  her  feet,  the 
day  after  the  wedding.  The  bundle,  which  she  had 
brought  with  her,  she  had  found  very  useless  and  so 
awkward  that  she  would  have  given  it  to  Emma,  had 
it  not  seemed  unsuited  to  a  young  person  manifestly 
so  fine.  Since  then  it  had  been  tucked  away  in  a  cup 
board,  safely  out  of  sight. 

That  was  just  five  days  ago,  a  brief  eternity,  dur 
ing  which  life  seemed  to  be  driving  her  headlong  to 
some  unimagined  goal.  Until  the  evening  previous 
she  had  had  barely  a  moment.  But  on  that  evening, 
Paliser,  who  was  dining  at  the  Austens',  had  given  her 
a  few  hours  to  herself. 

Now,  on  this  afternoon,  he  was  again  in  town. 

The  air  was  very  still.  Afar,  a  train  bellowed, 
rumbled,  died  away.  From  the  garage  came  the  bark 
of  a  dog,  caught  up  and  repeated  on  the  hillside  be 
yond.  On  the  lawn,  a  man  in  an  apron  was  at  work. 
Otherwise  the  air  was  still,  fragant,  freighted  with 
spring. 

Cassy,  turning  from  the  table,  went  to  the  mirror 
again  and  tilted  the  hat.  However  unbecoming,  it  was 
certainly  smart,  and  Cassy  wondered  what  her  father 
would  think  of  Mrs.  Monty  Paliser. 

In  the  spaciousness  of  the  name,  momentarily  she 
lost  herself.  It  is  appalling  to  be  a  snob.  But  there 
are  attributes  that  pour  balm  all  over  you.  In  the 
deference  of  the  bored  yet  gracious  young  women  who, 
with  robes  et  manteaux,  had  come  all  the  way  from 
Fifth  Avenue,  there  had  been  a  flagon  or  two  of  that 
balm.  In  the  invariable  "Thank  you,  mem's"  of  the 


THE    PALISER   CASE  183 

Paliser  personnel  there  had  been  more.  It  is  appall 
ing  to  be  a  snob.  There  are  perfumes  that  appeal. 

Then  also,  particularly  after  Harlem,  the  great, 
grave,  silent  house  had  a  charm  that  was  enveloping, 
almost  enchanted.  Apparently  uncommanded,  it  ran 
itself,  noiselessly,  in  ordered  grooves.  Cassy  fancied 
that  somewhere  about  there  must  be  a  majordomo 
who  competently  saw  to  everything  and  kept  out  of 
the  way.  But  she  did  not  know.  In  her  own  rooms 
she  was  now  at  home,  as  she  was  also  at  home  in  the 
state  chambers  on  the  floor  below.  In  regard  to  the 
latter,  she  had  an  idea — entirely  correct,  by  the  way — 
that  at  Lisbon,  the  royal  palace — when  there  was  one 
— could  not  have  been  more  suave.  But  the  rest  of 
the  house  was  as  yet  unexplored,  though  in  regard  to 
the  upper  storey  she  had  another  idea,  that  there  was  a 
room  there  close-barred,  packed  with  coffins. 

The  idea  delighted  her.  In  this  Palace  of  the  White 
Cat  it  was  the  note  macabre,  the  proper  note,  the  note 
that  synchronised  the  circumambient  enchantments. 
In  the  historical  nights  of  which  Perrault  told,  the 
princess  had  but  a  gesture  to  make,  the  offender  sank 
dead.  At  once  a  bier  was  produced,  the  corpse  was 
hurried  away,  and  the  veils  of  charm  restored  fell 
languorously. 

Yet,  in  that  historical  epoch,  there  subsisted — per 
haps  as  a  reminder  of  the  vanities  even  of  fairyland 
— the  rose-leaf  suggestively  crumpled.  The  crumple 
affected  Cassy  but  far  less  than  she  had  expected. 
Paliser  had  been  very  gentlemanly.  He  had  deferred 
to  her  in  all  things,  agreed  with  her  about  everything, 
and  though  none  the  less  he  always  had  his  own  way, 
yet  the  pedestal  was  so  obvious  that  if  she  had  not 


184  THE    PALISER   CASE 

known  otherwise  she  might  have  thought  herself  con 
tinuously  upon  it. 

The  crumple  was  not  there,  or  at  least  only  such 
crumple  as  she  had  naturally  awaited.  The  discom 
fort  of  the  leaf  consisted  in  the  fact  that  married  she 
was  not  mated,  that  she  did  not  love  him,  and  prob 
ably  never  could. 

Now,  as  she  tilted  her  hat,  the  spaciousness  of  the 
name  recurred  to  her.  Its  potentialities  she  had  con 
sidered  before  she  accepted  it,  but  only  because  of  her 
father.  The  idea  that  it  would  lift  him  out  of  the 
walk-up,  out  of  Harlem  and  cold  veal,  was  the  one 
excuse  for  her  voyage  to  Cytherea.  The  voyage  had 
been  eminently  respectable.  Undertaken  with  full  ec 
clesiastical  sanction,  Aphrodite  and  her  free  airs  had 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  None  the  less  it  was  to 
Cytherea  that  she  had  gone — and  to  Lampsacus  also, 
for  all  she  and  her  geography  knew  to  the  contrary. 

Now,  though,  in  tilting  her  hat,  the.  disreputable 
beauty  of  the  land  was  forgotten.  She  was  in  an 
other  and  a  fairer  realm.  A  modern  garden  of  the 
Hesperides  lay  about  her.  She  saw  herself  distribut 
ing  the  golden  fruit.  The  mirror  showed  her  a  red- 
crossed  Lady  Bountiful  in  an  ambulance,  in  two  am 
bulances,  in  a  herd  of  ambulances,  at  the  front.  There 
was  no  end  to  the  golden  fruit,  no  end  to  his  father's 
money,  no  end  to  the  good  he  might  allow  her  to  do. 

The  picture  so  delighted  her  that  she  flushed  and 
in  the  emotion  of  it  two  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  that 
were  not  of  the  crying  kind. 

She  dried  them,  telling  herself  that  if  he  framed  the 
picture,  she  could  love  him,  and  she  would. 

It  would  be  all  so  perfect,  not  the  loving,  but  the 
giving,  the  joy  of  giving,  the  joy  of  always  giving, 


THE    PALISER   CASE  185 

of  giving  with  both  hands,  of  just  shovelling  it  out 
and  keeping  at  it,  of  never  saying  "No,"  of  saying, 
"Yes,  and  here  is  more  and  here  is  more,"  of  saying, 
too,  "Don't  thank  me,  it  is  for  me  to  thank  you." 
What  joy  ever  was  there,  or  ever  will  be,  that  can 
compare  to  that! 

Why,  I'm  crazy,  she  thought,  and  thought  also,  he 
never  will  but  he  might,  he  could  and  if  he  should 

Then  at  once  the  Paliser  of  the  Savile  Row  clothes 
and  the  St.  James's  Street  boots,  the  Paliser  of  the 
looking-glass  hair  and  the  Oxford  voice,  assumed  the 
hue  and  stature  of  a  deva.  Love  him !  It  would  be 
something  higher.  It  would  be  worship ! 

She  made  a  face.  It  was  sheer  nonsense.  He  had 
an  allowance  which,  obviously,  was  very  liberal  and 
with  which  he  was  liberal  enough.  Unlike  many  rich 
men  he  was  not  close.  But  to  fancy  him  beneficent 
was  laughable.  Cassy  could  not  imagine  him  in  the 
role  of  Lord  Bountiful.  Then  too  there  was  some 
thing  queer  about  him.  He  hated  to  be  alone.  There 
are  people  who  kill  silence  and  he  was  one  of  them. 
He  was  always  talking.  Cassy  could  not  understand 
it.  To  be  silent  with  any  one  procures  an  intimacy 
which  talk  cannot  supply.  Moreover  solitude  was  as 
necessary  to  her  and  as  refreshing  as  her  bath.  Silence 
and  solitude  he  could  not  endure.  She  tilted  her  nose 
and  went  to  the  window. 

That  night  they  were  to  go  to  the  opera.  But  in  a 
moment  she  was  to  motor  in  and  see  her  father.  Since 
she  put  Harlem  behind  her,  she  had  wondered  and 
worried  about  him.  The  condition  of  his  heart  was 
hazardous  and  she  had  been  told  that  any  excitement 
might  be  fatal.  She  had  worried  over  that,  over  his 
sudden  rages  at  tradespeople,  and  she  had  been  fearful 


i86  THE   PALISER   CASE 

lest  Mrs.  Yallum,  the  janitress,  who  spoke  no  known 
tongue,  had,  instead  of  being  of  use,  only  enraged  him 
further. 

She  would  see  to  it,  though.  It  was  for  that  she 
was  going  in.  As  yet  she  had  no  money.  But  there 
were  the  rings  and  one  more  or  one  less,  what  did  it 
matter?  Of  the  lot  she  preferred  the  string  of  hoops. 
It  was  quaint,  there  was  nothing  philistine  about  it 
and  probably  it  had  not  cost  so  very  much.  The 
emerald  was  different.  It  was  a  stone  that  would 
please  any  woman  with  plenty  of  money  and  a  modi 
cum  of  taste.  Probably  it  had  cost  a  thousand  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  in  which  case  it  would  fetch  a  hundred 
on  Broadway.  Or  if  not,  then  the  sapphire  would. 
Either  or  both  she  would  hock  very  willingly.  But 
not  the  hoop-ring  and  not  the  opal,  unless  she  had  to, 
and  if  Paliser,  who  apparently  noticed  nothing  and  saw 
everything,  asked  concerning  them,  why  then  she 
would  out  with  it.  Her  father  was  a  beggar !  Did  he 
expect  her  to  let  him  starve?  But  what  on  earth  do 
you  suppose  I  married  you  for  ?  For  yourself  ?  Take 
a  walk.  I  sold  myself  for  bread — and  butter,  and 
you  can  fork  them  over. 

At  the  possibility  of  any  such  conversation — and  of 
such  language! — she  flushed  afresh  and  again  called 
herself  a  fool.  There  could  be  no  such  conversation. 
Paliser  would  never  question.  He  was  too  indifferent. 
The  consciousness  comforted,  precisely  as,  a  moment 
before,  the  picture  of  herself  shovelling  gold  had 
moved  her  to  tears. 

Then  absently  she  found  herself  looking  in  the  gar 
den  where  the  aproned  man  was  at  work.  But  it  was 
Lennox  that  she  saw.  Again  and  again  since  the 
wedding-evening,  when  Paliser  had  told  her  of  the 


THE    PALISER   CASE  187 

unscrambled  eggs,  she  had  wondered  about  the  broken 
engagement.  On  that  evening  she  had  felt  that  she 
had  taken  the  wrong  road  and  had  lost  her  way.  The 
feeling  was  momentary.  If  Lennox  had  never  been 
engaged,  the  result  would  have  been  the  same.  Not 
once  had  he  so  much  as  said  boo!  He  had  not  even 
looked  it.  At  table,  on  the  wedding-evening,  the  un 
scrambled  eggs  had  not  tasted  very  good,  but  reflec 
tion  had  salted  them  and  since  then,  in  reviewing  the 
matter,  it  had  occurred  to  her  that  it  was  none  of  her 
business. 

Now  as  she  looked  out  on  the  garden  she  wondered 
whether  he  had  cared  very  greatly  for  this  girl,  for  if 
he  had,  what  then  did  she  mean  by  throwing  over  a 
man  who  was  too  good  for  her,  too  good  for  anybody  ? 

She  sighed  and  absently  looked  again  at  the  gar 
dener.  He  was  bending  down,  occupied  in  planting 
something.  Since  she  had  first  noticed  him  he  had 
half-circled  a  parterre  and  she  was  about  to  telephone 
and  ask  if  the  car  were  ready  when  he  straightened, 
turned,  extracted  a  pipe  and  attempted  to  light  it. 

The  air  was  very  still,  there  was  no  breeze,  but  the 
match  was  ineffective.  On  his  trousers,  with  a  back 
ward  movement,  he  struck  another  match  and  raised  it 
to  the  bowl.  The  flame,  faintly  blue,  mounted  and, 
with  it,  a  curl  of  smoke.  But  it  was  not  Cassy  or,  more 
exactly,  it  was  not  her  objective  self,  that  saw  it.  It 
was  her  subjective  self  that  registered  and  afterward 
reproduced  that  momentary  and  entirely  commonplace 
incident.  What  the  objective  Cassy  saw  was  not  the 
flame  or  the  smoke  or  the  pipe,  but  the  hand  that  held 
the  match.  It  was  thumbless.  Many  hands  are. 
From  the  hand  she  looked  at  the  man's  face  and  gave 
a  little  scream,  instantly  suppressed. 


i88  THE   PALISER   CASE 

But  her  mouth  twitched,  she  tried  to  swallow  and 
she  experienced,  what  was  new  to  her,  an  odd  sensa 
tion  in  the  epiglottis.  She  did  not  remember  that  she 
had  ever  been  what  is  called  sick  at  the  stomach,  none 
the  less  she  realised  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  be 
coming  so.  Like  the  little  scream,  she  choked  it  back. 
But  the  immanence  of  nausea  stifled  her,  and  she  sat 
down  on  a  brocade-covered  chair. 

Her  hand  had  gone  to  her  throat  and  though  al 
most  at  once  the  sensation  subsided,  she  held  it  there. 
The  gold  bands  of  the  rings  that  were  pressed  against 
her  throat  cooled  it,  but  the  palm  of  the  hand  was  wet. 
Unconscious  of  that,  she  was  unaware  that  she  could 
not  think.  A  crack  on  the  head  makes  you  dizzy  and 
into  her  dizziness  a  somnolence  had  entered.  The 
somnolence  dulled  all  the  cells  of  the  brain  save  one 
and  that  one  cell,  vehemently  active,  was  inciting  her 
to  some  effort,  though  to  what  she  did  not  know. 

"I  must  get  up/'  she  presently  told  herself  and  told 
it  once  more. 

In  the  repetition  of  the  words  there  was  the  effect 
of  a  spray.  The  irritability  of  the  one  active  cell  sub 
sided,  that  of  the  others  was  aroused.  Somnanbulism 
ceased.  The  entire  brain  awoke.  But  the  truth  had 
not  yet  fully  permeated  all  the  cerebral  convolutions 
and  the  fact  that  it  had  not,  manifested  itself  in  the 
melodramatic  phrase  which,  a  week  previous,  Lennox 
had  uttered,  which  all  have  uttered,  all  at  least  before 
whom  the  unforseen  has  sprung. 

"It  is  impossible!" 

She  got  up,  went  to  the  window,  looked  again. 
There  was  no  impossibility  there,  no  doubt  even,  or  the 
perad venture  of  one.  There  was  only  the  ineluctable 
truth.  The  aproned  man  disclosed  it.  His  thumbless 


THE    PALISER   CASE  189 

hand  had  held  the  book.  From  his  mouth,  in  which 
there  was  a  pipe,  had  come  the  benediction.  He  was 
Dr.  Grantly.  That  was  the  ineluctable  truth,  ;the 
truth  which  already  perhaps  she  had  intercepted  in 
the  land  of  Beauty  and  Horror. 

The  first  sight  of  it  had  sickened.  Now  the  phys 
ical  effect  had  gone.  But  the  nausea  in  passing  had 
been  replaced  by  another  sensation,  deadlier,  equally 
human,  that  made  her  red  and  hot,  blurred  her  eyes, 
set  her  quivering,  shook  her,  put  her  thoughts  on  fire, 
vitriolised  her  with  hate. 

Nietzsche  said  that  a  woman's  ability  to  hate  is  in 
proportion  to  her  inability  to  charm.  The  brute 
omitted  to  add  that  a  woman's  ability  to  charm  cor 
responds  to  her  evolution. 

There  was  nothing  evolved  about  Cassy  then.  She 
had  lapsed  back  into  the  primitive.  Like  Armide,  she 
could  have  burned  the  palace  that  enchanted  her. 
None  the  less,  she  did  nothing.  To  do  nothing  may 
be  very  important.  The  inactivity  saved  her.  Dur 
ing  it,  the  vitriol  vaporised;  the  hate  fell  by.  She 
was  still  trembling,  her  hands  were  unsteady,  but  the 
fever  was  departing,  the  crisis  had  passed,  the  primi 
tive  had  slunk  back  into  the  cellars  of  the  subcon 
scious,  and,  in  the  chair,  to  which  without  knowing  it 
she  had  returned,  she  faced  it. 

Without,  some  one  knocked  and,  getting  no  answer, 
accepted  the  invitation  as  most  people  do. 

"Beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Paliser.  The  car  is  at  the 
door." 

Cassy  half  turned.     "What?" 

Emma  reconstructed  it.  "Whenever  you  are  ready, 
mem,  the  car  will  be  waiting." 

Cassy  turned  away.     "That  will  do." 


THE    PALISER   CASE 

"Thank  you,  mem." 

With  that  air  which  servants  assume,  Emma  pursed 
her  lips,  reopened  them,  thought  better  of  it,  closed 
them  and  closed  too  the  door. 

Facing  it  still,  Cassy  sat  in  the  brocaded  chair. 
Anger  had  shaken  her  and  gone,  taking  with  it  its 
spawn  which  hatred  is.  What  inhabited  her  then  was 
disgust. 

I  am  in  a  nice  mess,  she  told  herself.  But  she  told  it 
without  surprise,  as  though  all  along  it  was  something 
which  she  might  have  known,  could  have  avoided,  but 
Into  which  she  had  put  her  foot.  A  momentary  vision 
of  the  red-crossed  Lady  Bountiful  returned  and  she 
even  smiled  at  it.  It  was  a  sad  little  smile  though. 

Abstractedly,  she  had  been  turning  and  twisting  the 
rings.  The  motion  aroused  her.  It  drew  her  atten 
tion  to  them.  They  also  had  something  to  say. 
Something  which  they  had  been  saying  ever  since  the 
smoke  curled  from  the  pipe.  She  had  not  heard  it 
then.  There  had  been  too  many  things  tumbling  about 
her.  But  now  she  did  hear.  She  took  them  off,  stood 
up  and  dropped  them  on  the  table  where  they  fell  be 
tween  gold-backed  brushes  and  a  vase,  gorgeous  in 
delicacy,  the  colour  of  ox-blood. 

From  a  cupboard  she  took  the  rowdy  frock,  the 
tarn,  the  basilica  underwear  and,  for  a  moment, 
searched  and  searched  vainly  for  a  pair  of  stockings. 
In  hunting  for  them  she  unearthed  the  bundle,  and 
that  together  with  the  other  things,  she  threw  on  the 
bed,  which  was  not  brocaded,  or  even  daised.  It  was 
silver.  A  few  days  before,  when  she  had  first  seen  it, 
she  had  clapped  her  hands.  The  vase  too  she  had  ap 
plauded.  Now  the  lovely  room,  that  had  seemed  so 
iovely,  a  curl  of  smoke  had  turned  into  a  lupanar. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  191 

Quickly,  one  after  another,  the  modish  hat,  the 
delicious  frock,  the  things  that  could  be  drawn  through 
a  ring,  were  removed  and  replaced.  In  the  mirror  she 
looked,  stopped,  looked  again,  adjusted  the  tarn  and 
was  going  to  the  bed  for  the  bundle  when  she  heard 
a  horn.  Head-drawn,  she  listened. 

She  would  have  so  much  preferred  to  leave  without 
seeing  him  or  speaking  to  him.  If  she  could,  she 
would  have  gone  without  a  word,  silently,  in  the  only 
dignified  manner  that  was  possible.  But,  apparently, 
matters  had  arranged  themselves  otherwise.  She  went 
to  the  bed,  took  the  bundle,  moved  back  to  the  table  and 
waited. 

She  did  not  wait  long.  Paliser,  with  the  pretence 
of  a  knock  and  a  smile  on  his  lips  walked  in — but  not 
far.  That  frock,  that  bundle,  the  sight  of  her  there, 
sufficed.  He  knew.  With  an  awkwardness  that  was 
unusual  with  him,  he  closed  the  door  and  twisted  his 
hat.  The  smile  had  gone  from  his  lips.  They  were 
dry. 

Then  as  he  looked  at  her  and  she  looked  at  him — 
and  with  what  a  look! — words  seemed  such  poor 
things.  It  was  as  though  already  everything  had  been 
said,  as  perhaps  in  the  silent  temples  of  their  being, 
everything,  accusations,  recriminations,  all  the  futili 
ties  of  speech  had  been  uttered,  impotently,  a  moment 
since.  A  moment  earlier  she  had  said  her  say.  As 
he  looked  at  her  he  knew  that  she  had  and  knew  too, 
that  before  he  entered  the  room,  already  she  had 
heard  his  replies. 

The  consciousness  of  this,  equally  shared  by  both, 
was  so  intense  that,  for  a  second,  Cassy  felt  that  every 
thing  happening  then  had  happened  ages  ago,  that  she 
was  taking  part  in  a  drama  rehearsed  on  a  stage  that 


192  THE    PALISER    CASE 

memory  cannot  reconstruct  but  which  stood,  and,  it 
may  be,  still  stands,  back  of  those  doors  that  close  be 
hind  our  birth. 

The  hallucination,  if  it  be  one,  and  which,  given  cer 
tain  crises  of  the  emotions,  is  common  enough,  van 
ished  abruptly  as  it  had  come.  But  two  seconds  had 
gone  since  Paliser  entered  the  room,  yet,  in  those 
seconds,  both  recognised  that  eternity  had  begun  be 
tween  them. 

With  his  hat,  a  hat  studiously  selected,  made  to 
order,  Paliser  motioned  and  with  the  same  studious- 
ness,  selecting  a  platitude,  he  produced  it.  "I  was 
going  to  take  you  out/' 

"After  taking  me  in,"  Cassy  in  reviewing  the  situa 
tion  subsequently  commented.  But  at  the  time  she 
said  nothing.  She  merely  looked.  Her  rage  was 
gone,  her  anger  spent.  Only  disgust  remained.  It 
was  that  which  her  face  expressed.  It  was  withering. 

Paliser,  steadying  himself  and,  as  was  perhaps  only 
natural,  hedging  still,  resumed:  "But  apparently  you 
have  other  intentions." 

What  a  cad  that  blackguard  is !  thought  Cassy  who 
still  said  nothing. 

"May  I  ask  what  they  are?" 

Cassy  threw  up  her  chin.     "My  intentions  are  to 
leave " 

"But  why?" 

"Don't  presume  to  interrupt  me.  My  intentions  are 
to  leave  your  assignation-house  and  have  you  horse 
whipped." 

Paliser  had  been  served  with  strong  drink  before, 
but  none  ever  as  strong  as  that.  It  steadied  him.  He 
had  expected  that  when  it  got  to  her,  as  eventually  it 
must,  there  would  be  the  passionate  upbraidings,  the 


THE    PALISER    CASE  193 

burst  of  sobs,  the  Oh!  Oh's!,  the  What  will  become 
of  me  ?,  the  usual  run  up  and  down  the  scale  and  the 
usual  remedies  which  a  bank  account  supplies.  He 
had  expected  all  that.  He  had  prescribed  for  it  of 
ten.  There  was  not  a  symptom  for  which  he  did  not 
know  the  proper  dose  and  just  when  to  administer  it. 
But  barely  had  he  crossed  the  threshold  before  he 
realised  that  all  his  science  would  be  in  default. 

Cassy  presented  an  entirely  new  case,  but,  fortu 
nately,  in  the  drink  which  she  had  served,  he  saw  or 
thought  he  saw  how  to  treat  it. 

He  gestured  again.  "I  never  cared  for  scenes.  But 
this  house,  which  it  has  pleased  you  to  describe  from 
your  knowledge  of  other  establishments,  is " 

Whatever  he  may  have  intended  to  add,  was  in 
terrupted.  Cassy,  previously  inexorable  as  fate,  but 
converted  then  into  a  fury,  dropped  the  bundle  and 
caught  up  the  vase.  Missing  him,  it  hit  the  door, 
where  musically  it  crashed  and  shattered. 

He  turned,  looked  at  it,  looked  at  her,  at  the  table. 
Barring  the  gold-backed  brushes,  the  jade  platter  and 
that  bundle,  there  was  nothing  that  she  could  con 
veniently  shy,  and,  in  his  Oxford  voice,  but  civilly 
enough,  he  gave  it  to  her. 

"Allow  me.  There  is  no  necessity  whatever  for 
your  acting  in  this  manner.  The  situation,  such  as  it 
is,  it  had  been  my  intention  to  remedy.  It  had  been 
my  intention,  I  say.  But  yesterday  it  came  to  my 
knowledge  that  it  is  because  of  your  relations  with 
Lennox  that  his  engagement  is  broken." 

Take  that,  he  mentally  added  and  continued  aloud : 
"I  might  not  have  believed  the  story,  but  I  was  told 
that  Lennox  admitted  it."  Take  that,  too,  he  mentally 


194  THE    PALISER    CASE 

resumed.  I  shall  be  treated  to  tears  in  a  minute  and 
in  no  time  it  will  be  "Kamerad !" 

Sidewise  he  looked  at  the  ruin  of  the  vase,  on  which 
Daughters  of  Heaven  and  an  ablated  dynasty  may 
have  warmed  their  eyes.  It  affronted  his  own.  In 
sult,  yes,  that  could  be  tossed  about,  but  not  art,  not 
at  least  the  relatively  unique. 

With  a  crease  in  his  lips  which  now  were  dry  no 
longer,  he  looked  at  Cassy.  The  awaited  tears  were 
not  yet  visible.  But  the  blood-madness  that  had  seized 
her,  must  have  let  her  go,  routed,  as  hsematomania 
may  be,  by  the  trivial  and,  in  this  instance,  by  a  lie. 
That  lie  suffocated  her.  It  was  as  though,  suddenly, 
she  had  been  garroted. 

The  condition  was  only  momentary,  but,  during  it, 
a  curtain  fell  on  this  vulgar  drama,  which  was  to  af 
fect  so  many  lives.  Before  the  girl  a  panorama 
passed.  She  saw  herself  leaving  Lennox'  rooms.  She 
saw  Margaret  Austen,  saw  the  woman  with  her,  saw 
the  former's  candid  eyes;  saw  the  latter's  ridiculous 
airs,  saw  the  construction  which  between  them  they 
had  reached  and  saw,  too,  the  consequences  that  had 
resulted.  The  dirt  with  which  she  had  been  besplat- 
tered  she  did  not  see.  The  panorama  did  not  display 
it.  What  it  alone  revealed  was  Lennox'  disaster. 
Of  herself  she  did  not  think  and  regarding  Margaret 
she  did  not  care.  That  which  occupied  her  was  Len 
nox. 

But  was  it  true?  In  Paliser  nothing  was  true,  not 
even  his  lies.  For  it  was  unaccountable  that  a  matter 
so  simple  could  not  have  been  cleared  with  a  word. 
But  it  was  not  unaccountable  at  all.  It  was  obvious. 
Margaret,  a  born  snob,  had  given  Lennox  no  chance 
for  that  word.  Some  one,  Paliser  probably,  had  in- 


THE    PALISER    CASE  195 

vented  the  admission  and  she  had  refused  to  see  him, 
after  condemning  him  unheard. 

I  will  attend  to  that,  Cassy  decided. 

At  once  the  suffocation  ceased,  the  panorama  sank, 
the  scene  shifted,  the  curtain  parted,  the  drama  pro 
ceeded  and  she  found  herself  staring  at  Paliser,  who 
was  staring  at  her. 

"As  it  is "  he  tentatively  resumed  and  would 

have  said  more,  a  lot,  anything  to  coerce  the  tears  to 
her  eyes  and  with  them  surrender. 

She  gave  him  no  chance.  She  took  the  bundle  and, 
before  he  could  continue,  she  passed  him,  opened  the 
door,  slammed  it  with  a  din  that  had  in  it  the  clatter  of 
muskets,  went  down  the  stair  and  out  to  the  perron, 
before  which  stood  a  car. 

"The  station!"  she  threw  at  the  mechanician. 

The  house  now,  jarred  a  moment  earlier  by  the 
crash  of  porcelain  and  the  slamming  door,  had  re 
covered  its  silence. 

From  within,  Emma,  very  agreeably  intrigued,  a 
footman  with  a  white  sensual  face  beside  her,  looked 
out  with  slanting  eyes. 


XXV 

HARRIS,  wrinkled  as  a  sweetbread  and  thin  as  an 
umbrella,  blinked  at  Cassy.  "Mr.  Lennox  is  out, 
mem." 

"Then  go  and  fetch  him." 

Past  the  servant,  Cassy  forced  her  way  through  the 
vestibule,  into  the  sitting-room,  where  the  usual  gloom 
abided,  but  where,  unusually,  were  a  smell  of  camphor, 
two  overcoats,  two  trunks  and  a  bag. 

Cassy,  putting  down  the  bundle,  exclaimed  at  them. 
"He  is  not  leaving  town?" 

"Yes,  mem,  to-morrow  morning,  for  Mineola."  He 
spoke  grudgingly,  looking  as  he  spoke  like  a  little  old 
mule  at  bay. 

Cassy,  noticing  that,  said :  "See  here,  I  don't  mean 
to  bully  you,  but  it  is  most  important  that  I  should  see 
Mr.  Lennox — important  for  him,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"I  hear  you,  mem,  but  I  don't  know  where  he  is." 

"Then  find  out.    There  must  be  a  telephone." 

Harris  scratched  his  head  but  otherwise  he  did 
nothing. 

"Come!"  Cassy  told  him.     "Hurry!" 

Harris  shifted.  "I  don't  know  as  how  he'd  like  it. 

He's  been  that  upset  these  last  few  days.  I "  He 

hesitated.  Visibly  an  idea  had  visited  him  with  which 
he  was  grappling.  "You're  not  from  Miss  Austen, 
now,  are  you  ?" 

Cassy  caught  at  it.  To  confirm  it  would  be  fanciful. 

196 


THE    PALISER    CASE  197 

To  deny  it  would  be  extravagant.  Choosing  an  in- 
between  for  the  benefit  of  this  servant  whom  she  knew 
to  be  English,  she  produced  it. 

"I  am  the  Viscountess  of  Casa-Evora." 

Harris  wiped  his  mouth.  A  viscountess  who  had 
come  only  the  other  day  with  a  bundle,  and  who  now 
forced  her  way  in  with  another  bundle,  did  not  coin 
cide  with  such  knowledge  as  he  had  of  the  nobility. 
But  she  was  certainly  overbearing  enough  to  be  any 
body. 

He  turned.  "Very  good,  your  ladyship,  I'll  tele 
phone." 

Don't  ladyship  me,  Cassy  was  about  to  reply,  but 
judging  that  impolitic,  she  sat  down. 

On  the  train  in  she  had  debated  whether  she  would 
go  first  to  Harlem  or  to  Lennox  and  in  either  case  what 
afterward  she  should  do.  She  had  a  few  dollars 
which  her  father  would  need.  The  thought  of  these 
assets  reminded  her  that  in  changing  her  clothes  she 
had  omitted  to  change  back  into  her  own  stockings. 
Well,  when  she  changed  again  she  would  return  the 
pair  which  she  had  on  and,  as  she  determined  on  that, 
she  saw  Paliser's  face  as  she  had  seen  it  when  she 
threw  the  vase.  That  relapse  into  the  primitive  shamed 
her.  She  had  behaved  like  a  fish-wife.  But  though 
she  regretted  the  violence,  she  regretted  even  more 
deeply  the  vase.  The  destruction  of  art  is  so  despic 
ably  Hun!  For  moxa,  she  evoked  the  Grantly  mas 
querade. 

The  entire  lack  of  art  in  that  seemed  to  her  incon 
gruous  with  the  surface  Paliser  whom  she  had  known. 
But  had  she  even  known  the  surface  which  itself  was 
a  mask?  Yet  behind  the  mask  was  an  intelligence 
which  at  least  was  not  ordinary,  yet  which,  none  the 


198  THE    PALISER    CASE 

less,  had  descended  to  that !  She  could  not  understand 
it.  She  could  not  understand,  what  some  one  later 
explained  to  her,  that  a  high  order  of  intellect  does 
not  of  itself  prevent  a  man  from  soiling  it  and,  with 
it,  himself  and  his  hands.  The  explanation  came  later, 
when  other  matters  were  occupying  her  and  when  Pal- 
iser,  headlined  in  the  papers,  was  dead. 

Meanwhile  the  train  had  landed  her  in  the  Grand 
Central  and  she  decided  to  go  to  Lennox  first. 

Now  as  she  sat  in  his  sitting-room  where,  for  all 
she  knew,  she  might  have  to  sit  for  hours,  it  com 
forted  her  to  think  that  she  had  so  decided.  If  she 
had  put  it  off  until  the  morrow,  Lennox  would,  by 
then,  have  gone  to  the  aviation-field,  where  he  might 
be  killed  before  she  could  patch  things  up.  At  thought 
of  that,  she  wondered  whether  he  might  not  stay  out 
undiscoverably  all  night  and  send  for  his  things  to  be 
fetched  to  the  station. 

But  in  that  case,  Cassy  promptly  reflected,  I'll  go  to 
her,  pull  her  out  of  bed,  drag  her  there — and  no 
thanks  either.  I  didn't  do  it  for  you,  I  did  it  for  him. 
He's  too  good  for  you. 

On  the  mantel,  a  clock  struck,  while  thinly,  through 
a  lateral  entrance,  Harris  emerged. 

"The  hall-porter  at  Mr.  Lennox'  club  says  he's  just 
gone  out  with  Mr.  Jones.  Yes,  ma'am." 

"Mr.  Jones !    What  Mr.  Jones  ?    The  novelist  ?" 

"I'm  thinking  so,  ma'am.  A  very  haffable  gentle 
man." 

"Try  to  get  him.  Ask  if  Mr.  Lennox  is  there.  Or, 
no,  I'll  do  the  talking." 

Then  presently  she  was  doing  it,  collaborating 
rather  in  the  dialogue  that  ensued. 

"Mr.  Jones?" 


THE    PALISER   CASE  199 

"Yes,  darling." 

Cassy,  swallowing  it,  resumed :  "Mr.  Jones,  for 
give  a  stranger  for  intruding,  I " 

"Beautiful  voice,  forgive  me.  Triple  brute  that  I 
am,  I  thought  it  was  my  aunt/' 

"Then  let  me  introduce  myself.    This  is  Miss  Cara." 

"Casta  diva!    You  do  me  infinite  honour!" 

"Mr.  Jones,  I  must  see  Mr.  Lennox.  It  is  a  matter 
of  life  and  death." 

"Lennox  is  engaged  with  death  now." 

"What!" 

"He  is  preparing  for  the  great  adventure.  At  this 
moment  he  is  making  his  will.  Miss  Cara?" 

"Yes?" 

"Lennox  takes  even  serious  matters  gravely." 

"But  he  is  with  you?" 

"In  my  workshop  and  at  your  service  as  I  am." 

"You  will  let  me  come  there?" 

"Enthusiastically  and  yet  with  all  humility  for  I 
have  no  red  carpet  to  run  down  the  stair." 

"Then  hold  on  to  him,  please." 

Ouf!  sighed  Cassy,  as  she  hung  it  up.  Another 
man  who  might  be  Mrs.  Yallum's  husband !  She  took 
the  telephone-book,  found  and  memorised  the  address 
and  turned  to  Harris.  "Thank  you  very  much.  Will 
you  mind  giving  me  that  package?" 

"Beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  the  little  man  said,  as  he 
cipened  the  door  for  her.  "There's  nothing  more  amiss, 
is  there?" 

Cassy  covered  him  with  her  lovely  eyes.  "When 
Mr.  Lennox  comes  back  here,  he  may  tell  you  to  un 
pack." 

"Then  may  God  bless  your  ladyship." 

Cassy  went  on. 


200  THE    PALISER   CASE 

At  Jones'  shop,  a  floor  in  a  reconstructed  private 
house,  a  man  who  had  the  air  of  performing  a  feat, 
showed  her  into  a  room  that  was  summarily,  but  not 
spartanly,  furnished.  On  one  side  was  a  bookcase 
supported  by  caryatides.  Above,  hung  a  stretch  of 
silk  on  which  was  a  flight  of  dragons.  Above  the  silk 
was  an  ivory  mask.  Fronting  the  bookcase  was  the 
biggest  table  that  Cassy  had  ever  seen. 

Jones,  vacating  the  table,  advanced  to  greet  her. 
Perched  on  his  shoulder,  was  a  cat  that  peered  at  her. 
It  had  long  hair,  the  colour  of  smoke;  a  bushy  tail; 
the  eyes  of  an  angel  and  a  ferocious  moustache. 

Although  Cassy  had  other  matters  in  hand,  she  ex 
claimed  at  it.  "What  a  duck!" 

Jones,  who  saw,  and  at  once,  that  she  had  not  come 
to  ask  the  time  of  day,  exclaimed  also:  "Yes,  but 
ducky  is  as  ducky  does.  That  cat  talks  in  her  sleep." 

But  now  Lennox,  advancing  too,  had  taken  her 
hand. 

Withdrawing  it,  she  put  the  bundle  on  the  table,  on 
which  were  papers,  and,  noticeably,  a  dagger,  bril 
liant,  wicked,  thin  as  a  shadow.  On  the  blade  was  a 
promise — Penetrabo. 

She  looked  up.  Jones  and  the  cat  had  gone.  She 
looked  at  Lennox.  "I  don't  know  where  to  begin." 

Lennox  could  not  tell  her.  On  learning  that  she 
wanted  to  see  him,  he  had  supposed  it  was  about  her 
father  and  he  had  said  as  much  to  Jones.  But  in 
greeting  her,  the  novelist  knew  from  her  vibrations 
that  whatever  her  object  might  be,  at  least  it  was  not 
ordinary.  Then,  taking  the  cat,  he  had  gone. 

Now,  though,  Cassy  was  at  it.  "The  day  you 
loaned  me  a  hundred,  you  remember?  As  I  went  out 
I  had  the  money  in  my  hand.  In  the  hall  was  Miss 


THE    PALISER    CASE  201 

Austen.  You  had  just  shown  me  her  picture.  I  rec 
ognised  her  at  once.  With  her  was  a  woman,  thin- 
faced,  thin-lipped,  thin-minded.  She  saw  me,  saw  the 
money,  gave  me  a  look.  I  did  not  forget  it.  But  it 
is  only  to-day  that  I  learned  what  it  meant.  It  meant 
that  I  am  no  better  than  I  ought  to  be — or  you  either." 

Lennox  had  one  hand  on  the  table.  He  raised  the 
other.  "Who  told  you  this?" 

"Paliser.  He  said  it  was  the  reason  your  engage 
ment  was  broken." 

In  the  palm  of  the  upraised  hand,  the  fingers  moved 
forward  and  back,  regularly,  methodically,  mechani 
cally.  Lennox  was  unaware  of  it.  He  was  unaware  of 
anything  except  the  monstrous  perversity  of  the  tale. 

"I  came  directly  from  him  to  your  rooms.  Your 
man  said  you  were  going  away.  Thank  goodness,  I 
am  not  too  late." 

Cassy  had  seated  herself,  but  now,  reaching  for  the 
bundle,  she  stood  up.  Across  the  street,  in  the  house 
opposite,  a  boy  was  lowering  a  shade.  It  seemed  to 
Cassy  that  she  had  raised  one.  But  there  are  expla 
nations  that  explain  nothing.  To  Lennox  there  was  a 
shade  suspended  before  Margaret,  who  had  judged  him 
unheard.  It  obscured  her.  He  could  not  see  her  at  all. 

Over  the  way,  the  boy  lowered  a  second  shade  and 
Cassy,  as  though  prompted  by  it,  raised  another.  "Pal- 
iser  said  you  admitted  it." 

From  the  obscurity  Lennox  turned,  but  it  was  still 
about  him.  "Admitted  what?" 

Cassy  reddened.     "What  I  told  you." 

With  the  movement  of  the  head  that  a  bull  has  when 
he  is  going  for  you,  Lennox  bent  his  own.  The 
movement,  which  was  involuntary,  was  momentary. 
The  shade  had  lifted.  He  saw  Margaret,  but  behind 


202  THE   PALISER   CASE 

her  he  saw  others  holding  her  back,  telling  her  he  was 
not  fit  to  be  spoken  to.  He  was  going  for  them.  Mean 
while  he  had  forgotten  Cassy.  He  looked  up,  saw 
her,  remembered  the  part  attributed  to  her  in  the  story 
and  struck  the  table. 

"It  is  damnable  that  such  a  thing  should  be  said  of 
you." 

"Oh,"  Cassy  put  in.  "It  was  not  at  all  on  my  ac 
count  that  I  told  you.  I—  She  stopped  short. 
The  promised  horsewhipping  occurred  to  her. 

Lennox  took  up  the  knife,  gave  it  a  turn,  shoved  it 
away.  It  was  very  much  as  though  he  had  twisted  it 
in  somebody's  gizzards.  The  idea  had  come  to  him 
that  Paliser  had  concocted  the  admission.  But,  as  he 
was  unable  to  conceive  what  his  object  could  be,  he 
dismissed  it.  None  the  less,  for  what  the  man  had  said, 
he  deserved  to  be  booted  down  the  club  steps. 

Cassy  had  stopped  short.  The  story  behind  the 
story  did  not  concern  Lennox,  yet  as  he  might  wonder 
how  Paliser  had  ventured  with  her  on  such  a  subject, 
she  began  at  it  again. 

"We  were  married  recently,  or  anyway  I  thought 
so.  To-day  I  discovered  that  the  ceremony  was  bogus. 
Then  I  told  him  a  thing  or  two  and  he  told  me  that." 

Lennox  stared.  Angry  already,  angry  ever  since 
the  rupture,  angry  with  that  intensity  of  anger  which 
only  those  who  love — or  who  think  they  do — and  who 
are  thwarted  in  it  ever  know,  and  all  the  angrier  be 
cause  he  had  no  one  and  could  have  no  one  to  vent  it 
on,  until  he  got  to  the  front  and  got  at  the  Huns,  at 
that  last  fillip  from  Cassy  he  saw  some  one  on  whom 
he  could  vent  it,  and  yet  to  whom  none  the  less  he  felt 
strangely  grateful.  For,  whatever  Paliser  had  done 


THE    PALISER    CASE  203 

or  omitted,  at  any  rate,  he  had  completely  clarified  the 
situation. 

"I  must  run,"  said  Cassy.  "But  you  can  tell  Miss 
Austen,  can't  you?" 

Lennox,  controlling  himself,  motioned.  "Would 
you  mind  repeating  this  to  Jones?" 

Cassy 's  eyebrows  arched  themselves.  "It  was  hard 
enough  to  tell  you.  Were  it  not  for  your  engagement, 
I  wouldn't  have  said  anything.  When  dreadful  things 
happen  to  a  girl,  people  always  think  that  she  must  be 
dreadful  herself.  Isn't  that  nice  of  them?  I " 

"See  here,"  Lennox  interrupted,  "you  can't  leave  it 
like  this.  Something  has  got  to  be  done.  I  can  give 
Paliser  a  hiding  and  I  will.  But  that  isn't  enough. 
I  don't  know  whether  a  criminal  action  will  lie,  but  I 
do  know  that  you  can  get  damages  and  heavy  ones." 

Cassy's  lovely  eyes  searched  the  room.  "Who  was 
that  speaking?  It  wasn't  you,  was  it?" 

Lennox,  recognising  the  rebuke,  acknowledged  it. 
"Forgive  me.  I  forgot  whom  I  was  addressing.  Jones 
will  be  less  stupid.  Let  us  have  him  in." 

But  when  Jones,  immediately  requisitioned,  ap 
peared,  Cassy  again  putting  down  her  bundle,  pro 
tested.  "Mr.  Lennox  regards  me  as  an  Ariadne  and 
expects  me  to  act  like  a  young  lady  in  a  department- 
store.  Either  role  is  too  up-stage." 

Jones,  taken  with  her  mobile  mouth,  her  lovely  eyes, 
the  oval  of  her  handsome  face,  said  lightly :  "It  seems 
to  me  that  you  might  assume  any  part." 

Lennox  struck  out.  "Paliser  hocuspocused  her  with 
a  fake  marriage.  He " 

"Oh,"  Cassy  gently  put  in,  "I  have  no  one  to  blame 
but  myself.  I  ought  to  have  known  better." 

Jones  nodded.    "Probably  you  did  know.    The  mis- 


204  THE    PALISER   CASE 

adventure  is  rare  of  which  we  are  not  warned  in  ad 
vance.  We  cannot  see  the  future  but  the  future  sees 
us.  It  sends  us  messages  which  we  call  premonitions." 

Instantly  Cassy  was  back  in  the  Tamburini's  room, 
where  she  had  seen  both  beauty  and  horror.  She  had 
not  reached  the  latter  yet  and  the  sudden  vision  Len 
nox  dissipated. 

''Stuff  and  nonsense !  Haven't  you  anything  else  to 
say?" 

Amiably  Jones  turned  to  him.  "I  can  say  that  no 
one  is  wise  on  an  empty  stomach."  He  turned  to 
Cassy.  "The  Splendor  is  not  far.  Will  you  dine  with 
us,  Mrs.  Paliser?" 

Violently  Lennox  repeated  it;  "Mrs.  Paliser!  Miss 
Cara  is  no  more  Mrs.  Paliser  than  you  are." 

"To  err  is  highly  literary,"  Jones  with  great  meek 
ness  replied.  "I  hear  that  it  is  even  human." 

Cassy  reached  again  for  the  bundle.  "It  is  only 
natural.  If  I  had  been  told  in  advance,  I  could  not 
have  believed  it.  I  could  not  have  believed  that  mock 
marriages  occur  anywhere  except  in  cheap  fiction.  But 
we  live  and  unlearn.  Now  I  must  run." 

Lennox  took  her  hand.     "I  owe  you  a  debt.    Count 


on  me." 


He  spoke  gravely  and  the  gravity  of  it,  the  force 
that  he  exhaled,  comforted  Cassy 's  bruised  little  heart 
and  the  comfort,  the  first  that  she  had  had,  made  her 
lip  twitch.  None  of  that,  though!  Reacting  she  ral 
lied  and  smiled. 

"Good-bye — and  good  luck !" 

Jones  saw  her  to  the  door,  followed  her  out,  fol 
lowed  her  down  to  the  street,  where  for  a  moment 
he  detained  her. 

"Just  a  word,  if  you  don't  mind.     You  have  been 


THE    PALISER    CASE  205 

abominably  treated  and  you  seek  no  revenge.  That 
is  very  fine.  You  have  been  abominably  treated  and 
you  bear  no  malice.  That  is  superior.  You  have 
been  abominably  treated  and  you  accept  it  with  a  smile. 
That  is  alchemy.  It  is  only  a  noble  nature  that  can 
extract  the  beautiful  from  the  base.  Where  do  you 
live?" 

At  the  change  of  key  Cassy  laughed  but  she  told  him. 
"Good-bye,"  she  added.  "My  love  to  your  cat." 

She  passed  on  into  the  sunset.  The  bundle  seemed 
heavy  now,  but  her  heart  was  lighter.  She  had  got 
it  off,  Lennox  knew,  presently  a  young  woman  would 
be  informed  and  though  she  could  not  be  expected  to 
dance  at  the  wedding,  yet,  after  all 

The  Park  took  her. 


XXVI 

WHEN  Cassy  had  gone,  Jones  went  back  to  his 
rooms.  He  went  absently,  his  mind  not  on  her 
story,  which  was  old  as  the  Palisades,  but  on  a  situa 
tion,  entirely  new,  which  it  had  suggested. 

"Nice  girl,"  he  remarked  as  he  re-entered  the  work 
shop.  "Suppose  we  go  and  have  dinner." 

Sombrely  Lennox  looked  up.  At  the  table  where 
he  sat,  he  had  been  fingering  some  papers.  He  threw 
them  down. 

"I  am  going  to  have  a  word  with  Paliser." 

Jones  cocked  an  eye  at  him.  "See  here,  you  are 
not  a  knight-errant.  The  age  of  chivalry  is  over." 
The  novelist  paused  and  exclaimed :  "What  am  I  say 
ing!  The  age  of  chivalry  is  not  over.  It  can't  be. 
Last  night,  Verelst  dined  with  a  monster !" 

Lennox  pushed  at  the  papers.  "If  I  were  alone  con 
cerned,  I  would  thank  Paliser.  He  has  done  me  a  good 
turn.  He  has  set  me  straight." 

Then,  to  the  listening  novelist,  who  later  found  the 
story  very  useful,  Lennox  repeated  Cassy 's  version  of 
the  rhyme  and  reason  of  the  broken  engagement. 

The  tale  of  it  concluded,  Lennox  flicked  at  a  speck. 
"I  am  grateful  to  Paliser  for  that,  but  for  the  man 
ner  in  which  he  treated  her,  I  shall  have  a  word  with 
him.  Just  one." 

Jones  sat  down.  "A  word,  eh?  Well,  why  not? 
Flipping  a  man  in  the  face  with  a  glove  was  fashion- 

206 


THE    PALISER    CASE  207 

able  in  the  days  of  Charles  II.  Tweaking  the  nose  was 
Georgian.  The  horsewhip  went  out  with  Victoria. 
Posting  your  man  was  always  rather  coffee-house  and 
a  rough-and-tumble  very  hooligan.  If  I  were  you, 
which  I  am  not,  but  if  I  were,  I  would  adopt  con 
temporaneous  methods.  To-day  we  just  sit  about  and 
backbite.  That  is  progress.  Let  me  commend  it  to 
you." 

With  a  wide  movement,  Lennox  swept  the  papers, 
shoved  them  into  a  pocket  and  stood  up. 

Jones  also  stood  up.  "Got  an  appetite?  Well,  din 
ing  has  the  great  disadvantage  of  taking  it  away.  Come 
along." 

Lennox  put  on  his  hat.  "I  am  going  first  to  Park 
Avenue.'* 

No  you're  not,  thought  Jones,  who,  with  an  agility 
which  for  him  was  phenomenal,  hurried  to  the  door 
and  backed  against  it.  . 

Lennox  motioned  him  aside. 

Jones,  without  budging,  lied.  "They're  out  of 
town."  It  was  very  imbecile.  He  knew  it  was,  knew, 
too,  that  Lennox  knew  it,  and,  for  the  imbecile  lie,  he 
substituted  another.  "I  mean  they  are  dining  out." 

"What  the  devil  are  you  driving  at?"  Lennox  asked, 
and  not  very  civilly  either. 

"A  windmill,  I  suppose.    You  look  like  one.    I " 

Jones  broke  off.  The  expression  on  Lennox'  face 
arrested  him.  The  attempt  at  interference,  the  stupid 
evasions,  the  conviction  which  these  things  produced, 
that  there  was  something  behind  them,  something  se 
creted,  something  about  Margaret  that  Jones  knew  and 
which  he  was  concealing,  made  him  livid. 

"Out  with  it." 

Jones  looked  at  him,  looked  away,  adjusted  his  neck- 


208  THE    PALISER   CASE 

cloth,  vacated  the  door,  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down. 
He  did  not  know  to  what  saint  to  vow  himself.  But 
realising  that  it  was  all  very  useless,  that  everything 
is,  except  such  solicitude  as  one  pilgrim  may  show  to 
another,  and  that,  anyway,  Lennox  would  soon  hear 
it,  he  gave  it  to  him. 

"She  is  engaged  to  Paliser." 

Lennox,  who  was  approaching,  stopped  short. 
"Miss  Austen  is?" 

Jones  nodded. 

"To  Paliser?" 

But  it  seemed  too  rough  and,  to  take  the  edge  off, 
Jones  added.  "It  may  not  be  true." 

"How  did  you  hear?" 

"Verelst  told  me.    He  dined  there  last  night." 

Lennox  turned  on  his  heel.  Futilely  in  that  hell  to 
which  one  may  look  back  and  see  that  it  was  not  hell 
but  purgatory  prior  to  paradise,  futilely  there  he  had 
sought  the  reason  of  his  damnation.  A  few  minutes 
before  he  had  thought  that  Cassy's  story  revealed  it. 
In  the  light  of  it  he  had  seen  himself  condemned,  as 
many  another  has  been,  for  crimes  which  he  had  not 
committed.  But  he  had  seen,  too,  the  order  of  release. 
He  had  only  a  word  to  say.  He  was  going  to  Park 
Avenue  to  say  it. 

When  Jones  was  below  with  Cassy  so  he  had  thought 
and  not  without  gratitude  to  Paliser  either.  If  the 
cad  had  held  his  tongue,  enlightenment  might  have 
been  withheld  until  to  his  spirit,  freed  perhaps  in 
Flanders,  had  come  the  revelation.  Personally  he  was 
therefore  grateful  to  Paliser.  But  vicariously  he  was 
bitter.  For  his  treatment  of  that  girl,  punishment 
should  follow. 

That  girl!     Obscurely,   in  the  laboratory  of  the 


THE    PALISER    CASE  209 

senses  where,  without  our  knowledge,  often  against 
our  will,  our  impulses  are  dictated,  a  process,  intricate 
and  interesting,  which  Stendhal  called  crystallisation, 
was  at  work. 

Unaware  of  that,  conscious  only  of  the  moment,  to 
his  face  had  come  the  look  and  menace  of  the  wolf. 

Now ! 

"There  is  a  book  over  there,"  Jones,  who  was 
watching  him,  cut  in.  "It  is  Seneca's  'De  animae 
tranquilitate.'  Take  a  peek  at  it.  It  will  tell  you, 
what  it  has  told  me,  that  whatever  happens,  happens 
because  it  had  to  happen  and  because  it  could  not  hap 
pen  otherwise.  There  is  no  sounder  lesson  in  mental 
tranquillity." 

But  for  all  Lennox  heard  of  that  he  might  then  have 
been  dead.  Without  knowing  what  he  was  doing,  he 
sat  down.  Paliser,  Margaret!  Margaret,  Paliser! 
Before  him,  on  encephalic  films,  their  forms  and  faces 
moved  as  clearly  as  though  both  were  in  the  room. 
He  saw  them  approaching,  saw  them  embrace.  The 
obsession  of  jealousy  that  creates  the  image,  projected 
it.  He  closed  his  eyes,  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  The  image  got  behind  them.  It  persisted 
but  less  insistently.  The  figures  were  still  there.  It 
was  their  consistence  that  seemed  to  fade.  Where 
they  had  been  were  shadows — evil,  shallow,  malign, 
perverse,  lurid  as  torches  and  yet  but  shades.  For  the 
jealousy  that  inflames  love  can  also  consume  it  and, 
when  it  does,  it  leaves  ashes  that  are  either  sterile 
with  indifference  or  potent  with  hate.  At  the  shadows 
that  were  torches  Lennox  looked  with  closed  eyes. 
Obscurely,  without  his  knowledge,  in  the  laboratory 
of  his  senses,  crystallisation  was  at  work. 


210  THE    PALISER   CASE 

Jones,  leaning  forward,  touched  him.  "I  say,  old 
chap!" 

Lennox  had  been  far  away,  on  a  journey  from 
which  some  men  return,  but  never  as  they  went.  At 
Jones'  touch  he  dropped  his  hands.  The  innate  senti 
ment  of  form  repossessed  him.  He  straightened, 
looked  about  and,  after  the  manner  of  the  deeply  pre 
occupied,  who  answer  a  question  ten  minutes  after  it 
is  put,  said  evenly: 

"Suppose  we  do." 

Do  what?  But  Jones,  getting  it  at  once,  stood  up. 
"Come  along,  then." 

On  the  way  to  the  neighbourly  Athenaeum,  the  nov 
elist  talked  endlessly  about  the  disadvantages  of  not 
being  born,  which  is  a  very  safe  subject.  Talking  still, 
he  piloted  Lennox  to  the  dining-room  where,  the  ad 
vantages  of  sedatives  occurring  to  him,  he  ordered  a 
bottle  of  Pommard,  which  is  mother's  milk. 

But  when  it  was  brought  Lennox  would  not  touch 
it.  He  wanted  brandy  and  soda  and  told  Johnson,  a 
captain,  to  see  to  it. 

In  the  great  high-ceiled  room,  other  members  were 
dining.  From  one  of  the  tables  Ogston  sauntered  over 
and,  noting  that  Jones  and  Lennox  had  not  dressed, 
which  he  had,  and  very  beautifully,  remarked  bril 
liantly:  "You  fellers  aren't  going  to  the  opera,  are 
you?  It's  the  last  night." 

It  was  another  safe  subject  and  Jones  smiled  falsely 
at  him.  "But  you  are,  eh?  Sit  down." 

Ogston  put  a  hand  on  the  novelist's  chair.  "No. 
Pm  off  to  a  theatre-party.  But  I  have  a  ticket  for  the 
Metropolitan.  You  don't  either  of  you  want  it,  do 
you?" 

"Let  me  see,  what  is  it,  to-night?"     Jones,  with 


THE    PALISER    CASE  211 

that  same  false  smile,  enquired.  "And  where  is  the 
seat?" 

"In  Paliser's  box.  He's  to  be  alone  and  left  it  here 
with  a  note  asking  me  to  join  him." 

Deeply,  beneath  his  breath,  Jones  swore,  but  with 
the  same  smile,  he  tried  to  shift  the  subject.  "You're 
quite  a  belle,  aren't  you?" 

"See  here,  Ogston,"  Lennox  put  in,  "let  me  have  it." 

Ogston,  fumbling  in  his  white  waistcoat,  extracted 
the  ticket  and  handed  it  over. 

"By  the  way,  Lennox,  do  you  mind  my  doing  a 
little  touting  for  Cantillon?  He's  with  Dunwoodie. 
Give  him  your  law  business — some  of  it,  anyhow." 

"I'll  give  him  some,  when  I  have  it,"  answered 
Lennox,  who  was  to  have  some,  and  sooner  and  far 
more  monumentally,  than  either  he,  or  even  Jones, 
suspected. 

"Good  for  you,  Lennox.  Good-night,  Jones."  The 
brilliant  and  beautifully  dressed  young  man  nodded 
and  passed  on. 

But  now  the  captain  was  bearing  down  on  them. 

Jones  looked  at  Lennox.  "You  will  have  to  come 
back  to  my  shop  after  dinner.  There  is  a  phrase  in 
your  will  that  I  omitted.  I  forgot  the  'seized  and 
possessed.' ' 

Lennox  drank  before  he  spoke.  Then  he  said: 
"After  dinner,  I  shall  do  for  Paliser." 

Jones,  waiting  until  the  captain  had  gone,  looked  at 
Lennox  again.  "The  greatest  revenge  is  the  disdain 
of  any." 

Lennox  made  no  reply.  A  waiter  put  a  plate  before 
him  and  another  before  Jones.  Members  passed, 
going  to  their  tables  or  leaving  them.  Occasionally 
one  of  them  stopped,  exchanged  the  time  of  day  and 


212  THE    PALISER   CASE 

then  passed  on.  In  each  exchange  Jones  collaborated. 
Lennox  said  nothing.  The  food  before  him  he  tor 
mented,  poking  at  it  with  a  fork,  but  not  eating  it. 

Presently  he  asked  for  coffee,  drank  a  cup  and  got 
up. 

Jones,  too,  got  up  and,  to  stay  him,  put  out  a  hand. 

Lennox,  treating  it,  and  him,  like  a  cobweb,  went 
on. 

Afterward,  Jones  thought  of  the  Wild  Women  of 
whom  ^Eschylus  tells,  the  terrible  Daughters  of  Haz 
ard  that  lurk  in  the  shadows  of  coming  events  which, 
it  may  be,  they  have  marshalled. 

Afterward  he  thought  of  them.  But  at  the  moment, 
believing  that  Lennox  would  do  nothing  and  realising 
that,  in  any  case,  nothing  can  be  more  futile  than  an 
attempt  to  avert  the  inevitable,  he  was  about  to  resume 
his  seat,  when  something  on  the  floor  attracted  him. 
He  bent  over,  took  it,  looked  at  it  and  tucked  it  in  a 
pocket. 

Then,  sitting  down  again,  mentally  he  followed 
Lennox,  whom  later  he  was  to  follow  farther,  whom 
he  was  to  follow  deep  in  the  depths  where  the  Wild 
Women,  lurking  in  wait,  had  thrown  him. 


XXVII 

THE  Park  that  had  taken  Cassy  and  from  which, 
at  that  hour,  children  and  nursemaids  had  gone, 
was  green,  fragrant,  quiet.  Its  odorous  peace  envel 
oped  the  girl  who  had  wanted  to  cry.  In  hurrying  on 
she  had  choked  it  back.  But  you  cannot  always  have 
your  way  with  yourself.  The  tears  would  come  and 
she  sat  down  on  a  bench,  from  behind  which  a  squirrel 
darted. 

Before  her  the  grass  departed,  the  trees  disappeared, 
the  path  wound  into  nothingness.  In  their  place  was 
the  empty  vastness  that  sorrow  is.  The  masquerade 
that  had  affected  her  physically,  had  affected  her  psy 
chically  and  in  each  instance  profoundly.  It  had  first 
sickened  and  then  stabbed.  There  had  been  no  place 
for  sorrow  in  the  double  assault.  There  had  been  no 
time  for  it  either.  Occupied  as  she  had  almost  at  once 
become  with  the  misadventures  of  another,  she  had  no 
opportunity  to  consider  her  own.  Yet  now  the  as 
pect  that  sorrow  took  was  not  that  of  disaster.  What 
it  showed  was  the  loneliness  of  the  soul,  solitary  as  it 
ever  is  in  that  desert  which,  sooner  or  later,  we  all 
must  cross.  Vast,  arid,  empty,  before  her  it  stretched. 

Nearby,  on  the  bench,  crouching  there,  eager, 
anxious,  wary,  a  squirrel,  its  fluffy  tail  and  tiny  nos 
trils  aquiver,  watched  her  with  eyes  of  bead.  From 
the  desert  she  turned  and  seeing  the  little  gracious 
thing,  stretched  her  hand.  She  would  have  liked  to 

213 


214  THE    PALISER    CASE 

take  it  and  pet  it.  It  would  have  made  her  solitude 
less  acute.  At  the  movement,  a  ball  of  misty  fur 
bounded.  Where  it  had  been,  there  was  air. 

The  abrupt  evaporation  distracted  her.  Before  her 
the  desert  lay,  but  in  it  now  was  her  father.  She  had 
been  going  to  him.  Previously,  she  had  thought  that, 
when  she  did  go,  her  hands  would  be  filled  with  gifts. 
Instead  they  were  bruised,  bare  to  the  bone.  They 
would  madden  him  and  she  wondered  whether  she 
could  endure  it.  The  long,  green  afternoon,  that  had 
been  so  brief,  had  been  so  torturesome  that  she  doubted 
her  ability.  But  he  would  have  to  be  told.  She  could 
not  lie  to  him  and  humanly  she  wished  that  it  were 
to-morrow,  the  day  after,  the  day  after  that,  when  it 
would  be  over  and  done  for,  put  away,  covered  by 
woes  of  his  own,  though  inevitably  to  be  dragged  out 
again  and  shown  her,  and  shown  her,  too,  with  the 
unconscious  cruelty  that  those  who  love  you  display. 

It  would  be  crucifying,  but  there  was  no  help  for 
it.  Reaching  for  the  bundle,  she  stood  up  and  went 
her  way,  across  the  Park,  to  the  subway,  from  which 
she  got  out  in  Harlem. 

The  loveliness  of  that  land  of  love  seemed  to  have 
changed,  though  the  change,  she  then  recognised,  was 
in  herself.  But  at  least  the  walk-up  was  unaltered. 
In  the  grimy  entrance  was  Mrs.  Yallum,  a  fat  Finn, 
who  looked  like  a  dirty  horse,  and  who  yapped  at  her 
volubly,  incomprehensibly,  but  with  such  affection  that 
Cassy,  yapping  back,  felt  less  lonely  as  she  ascended 
the  stair. 

The  comfort  was  mediocre.  In  the  afternoon  she 
had  gone  from  a  ruin.  Now  she  had  the  sensation  of 
entering  another,  one  from  which  she  had  also  gone, 
but  to  which  she  was  returning  and  with  a  spirit  so 


THE    PALISER    CASE  215 

dulled  in  the  journey!  Had  she,  she  wondered,  any 
spirit  left  at  all?  At  least  enough  remained  to  pre 
vent  any  wish  for  the  reconstruction  of  the  ruin  be 
hind  her.  About  the  fallen  walls  were  forms  of  filth; 
in  the  crevices  there  were  vermin,  and  though,  before 
her,  the  desert  stretched,  it  was  clean.  However  arid, 
it  was  wholesome. 

But  now  she  was  at  the  door.  She  let  herself  in, 
hurried  to  the  living-room,  where,  with  the  feigned 
cheerfulness  of  the  unselfish,  she  beamed  at  her  father 
and  bent  over  him. 

"Here  I  am  to  look  after  you  again!  How  well 
you  look.  I  am  so  glad  and  oh !  where  is  your  sling  ?" 

In  speaking  she  stroked  him.  His  skin  was  clearer, 
she  thought,  and  the  abandoned  sling  was  a  relief. 

He  looked  up  at  her.  "You  got  married  without 
me.  I  ought  to  have  been  there.  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  ?  It  was  for  me  to  give  you  away.  Who  did  ?" 

"Who  did  what?" 

"Who  gave  you  in  marriage?" 

With  the  mimic  of  gaiety,  Cassy  laughed.  "Why, 
you  old  dear,  all  that  has  gone  out.  Hereabouts,  nowa 
days,  a  father  never  goes  to  a  wedding — only  to 
funerals." 

She  paused  and,  with  the  idea  of  breaking  it  to  him 
in  bits,  resumed :  ''Besides,  it  was  all  done  in  a  hurry, 
in  too  much  of  a  hurry." 

He  took  it  in,  but  at  the  wrong  end.  "Sick  of  him 
already,  eh?  Well,  it  isn't  because  I  did  not  warn 
you.  Where  is  he?" 

Cassy  moved  back.  Should  she  give  it  to  him  then 
or  later?  But  the  question,  repeating  itself,  followed 
her. 

"Where  is  your  husband  ?" 


216  THE    PALISER   CASE 

Now  for  it,  she  thought.  But  at  once  he  switched. 
"There  was  nothing  in  the  papers.  Why  is  that? 
What  is  that  package?" 

Cassy  looked  at  the  bundle  which  she  still  held.  It 
gave  her  courage. 

"I  am  not  married." 

For  a  second  he  stared.  It  was  obvious  that  he 
had  not  got  it.  "Where  have  you  been,  then?" 

Cassy  fingered  the  bundle.  Always  she  had  hated 
to  explain  and  of  all  possible  explanations  what  could 
be  more  hateful  than  this?  If  only  he  would  guess  it, 
flare  up,  stamp  about,  get  it  over,  let  it  go.  But  the 
cup  was  there  and  she  drank  it. 

"I  thought  I  was  married.     I  am  a  fool." 

For  the  awaited  curse,  she  braced  herself.  The 
explosion  did  not  come,  but  his  eyes  had  widened. 
They  covered  her.  Then,  with  an  intake  of  the  breath 
and  of  understanding,  he  lowered  them.  Apparently 
he  was  weighing  it  and  Cassy  thought  he  was  trying 
to  restrain  himself,  and  she  blessed  him  for  it.  It 
was  less  terrible  than  she  had  feared.  But  immedi 
ately  it  occurred  to  her  that  instead  of  trying  to  re 
strain  himself,  he  was  seeking  the  strength  wherewith 
to  rend  her.  And  I  am  so  innocent,  she  despairfully 
thought. 

Her  eyes  were  upon  him  and  he  looked  up  into  hers. 

"Why  did  you  think  you  were  married?" 

"I  told  you,  because  I  am  a  fool.  There  was  a 
clergyman  and  a  ceremony.  Afterwards  I  found  that 
the  clergyman  was  not  a  clergyman  and  that  the  cere 
mony  was  a  sham." 

"When  was  that?" 

"This  afternoon." 

"What  did  you  do?" 


THE    PALISER    CASE  217 

"What  was  there  for  me  to  do?     I  left  him." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

Cassy  put  down  the  bundle.  She  had  no  idea.  But 
she  said :  "This  evening  we  were  to  go  to  the  opera. 
I  hardly  fancy  he  will  miss  it  on  my  account."  She 
paused  and  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice  continued : 
"I  know  it  is  all  my  fault,  I  ought  to  have  known  bet 
ter  and  I  shall  be  so  unhappy  if  you  mind.  Won't  you 
try  not  to?" 

As  she  spoke,  he  stood  up  and  she  thought  that  the 
delayed  volcano  of  his  wrath  was  about  to  burst.  To 
smother  it,  she  touched  him.  "Of  course  you  will 
mind.  But  I  would  not  have  been  such  a  fool  if  I  had 
not  believed  that  everything  would  be  so  much  nicer 
for  you.  Can't  you  see  that  and,  if  you  do,  can't  you 
forgive  me?" 

He  had  moved  from  her  to  the  piano;  there  he 
turned  and  looked.  "There  is  nothing  to  forgive, 
Cassy.  You  have  been  a  good  girl  always.  I  am 
sorry,  of  course  I  am  sorry,  but  you  are  not  to  blame." 

Understanding  instead  of  maledictions!  Sympathy 
in  lieu  of  abuse !  Such  things  are  affecting.  The  tears 
swam  to  her  eyes  and  wretchedly  and  yet  thankfully 
she  wept. 

He  did  not  seem  to  notice.  In  the  narrow  space  he 
was  moving  about,  shifting  things  on  the  piano,  dis 
placing  and  replacing  a  score,  which,  finally,  he  let 
fall.  He  stooped  for  it.  As  he  raised  it,  Cassy  saw 
through  her  tears  that  his  hand  was  shaking.  He,  too, 
may  have  seen  it.  He  left  the  room  and  she  heard  him 
pottering  in  the  kitchen. 

She  wiped  her  eyes.  Across  the  court  was  another 
kitchen  in  which  were  a  woman  and  a  child.  Often 
she  had  seen  them  there,  but  if  she  had  seen  them  else- 


218  THE   PALISER   CASE 

where  she  would  not  have  recognised  them.  They 
were  but  forms,  the  perceptions  of  a  perceiver,  and 
though  Cassy  had  never  read  Fichte  and  was  unac 
quainted  with  Berkeley,  the  idea  visited  her  that  they 
had  no  real  existence,  that,  it  might  be,  she  had  none 
either,  that  all  she  had  endured  was  a  dream  drifting 
by,  with  nothing  past  which  to  drift. 

It  was  her  father's  attitude  that  had  induced  these 
metaphysical  hysterics.  She  had  expected  that  some 
demon  within  him  would  spring  out  and  gibber.  In 
stead  of  which  he  had  told  her,  and  so  gently,  that 
she  was  not  to  blame.  It  is  words  like  these  that  bring 
tears  swiftest.  The  tears  had  come,  but  the  words 
had  also  sufficed  to  reduce  the  people  across  the  way 
into  baseless  appearances,  in  which,  for  the  moment, 
she  included  herself. 

But  now  at  least  her  father  was  actual.  He  was 
coming  in  with  glasses  and  a  bottle  which  he  put  on 
the  table. 

"You  are  tired,"  he  said.     "Have  a  little." 

Seating  himself,  he  drank  and  Cassy  feared  that  if 
the  liquor  exerted  the  authority  that  liquor  has,  he 
might  go  back  into  it  and  exact  from  her  details  which 
it  would  revolt  her  to  supply.  In  helping  himself, 
he  had  poured  a  glass  for  her.  She  did  not  want  it. 
What  she  wanted  was  bed  and  the  blanket  of  long, 
dreamless  sleep.  It  could  not  be  too  long.  She  was 
tired,  as  he  had  said,  but  more  so  than  he  knew,  tired 
with  the  immense  fatigue  that  emotions  and  their  crises 
create. 

She  moved  over  to  where  he  sat.  Several  minutes 
had  gone  since  he  spoke  yet  it  seemed  to  her  but  the 
moment  before. 


THE    PALISER   CASE  219 

"Yes,  I  am  tired,  but  you're  a  good  daddy  and  I 
love  you/' 

She  bent  over  him,  went  to  the  kitchen,  got  a  glass 
of  milk  and  a  biscuit,  which  she  carried  to  her  room, 
where  she  opened  the  window  and  closed  the  door. 

Long  later,  when  she  awoke,  it  was  with  the  con 
sciousness  of  something  there,  something  waiting, 
something  evil,  something  that  had  jeered  and  pum 
melled  her  in  her  sleep.  But  what?  Then,  instantly, 
she  knew.  A  palace  of  falsehoods  had  tumbled  about 
her  and  the  lies  had  laughed  and  bruised  her  as  they 
fell.  They  had  been  laughing  and  falling  the  whole 
night  through. 

The  light  distracted  her.  In  the  morning,  because 
of  the  building  opposite,  her  room  was  dark.  Now 
it  was  bright.  The  sun  had  scaled  the  roof.  A  gleam 
looked  in  and  told  her  it  was  noon. 

How  could  I  have  slept  so  long?  she  wondered. 
She  put  some  things  on  and  opening  the  door  smelled 
coffee.  The  poor  dear!  she  thought,  he  had  to  make 
it  himself. 

She  went  on  into  the  living-room.  There  her  father 
sat.  On  the  table  before  him  was  a  paper. 

Without  speaking  he  pointed  at  a  headline.  The 
letters  squirmed.  They  leaped  and  sprang  at  her. 
From  before  them  she  backed.  But  what  nonsense! 
It  was  impossible.  She  could  not  believe  it.  Yet 
there  it  was !  Abruptly  there  also  was  something  else. 
An  electric  chair,  the  man  of  all  men  in  it ! 

From  before  the  horror  of  that  she  reeled,  steadied 
herself,  looked  at  her  father,  looked  without  seeing 
him. 

"God  of  gods !    And  I  did  it !" 


XXVIII 

IN  high  red  boots,  wide  purple  breeches  and  a  yel 
low  mandarin  jacket,  Jones  entered  the  workshop. 

His  appearance  did  not  alarm  him.  He  was  in 
visible.  Lloyd  George  and  Clemenceau  might  have 
called.  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  Jones  was  not  at  home,  sir. 
If  necessary  he  was  dead.  Always,  while  he  dressed, 
his  servant  put,  unseen,  a  tray  on  the  workshop  table 
and,  still  unseen,  disappeared.  With  the  tray  was  the 
morning  paper  and  the  usual  letters,  which  Jones  never 
read.  Morning  in  the  workshop  meant  work.  No  in 
terruptions  permitted.  On  one  occasion  the  house 
got  on  fire.  His  servant  did  not  venture  to  tell  him, 
though  the  firemen  did.  Apart  from  such  outrages, 
necessarily  infrequent,  the  only  intrusion  was  the 
morning  paper  and  the  cat  that  talked  in  her  sleep. 
The  cat  had  many  privileges,  the  paper  had  few. 
Sometimes  it  was  briefly  considered,  more  often  it 
was  not  even  looked  at,  but  its  great  privilege  con 
sisted  in  being  stacked. 

On  this  morning  Jones  did  look,  but  quite  involun 
tarily,  and  only  because  a  headline  caught  his  eye. 
It  was  the  same  headline  from  before  which  Cassy 
backed.  The  leaping  words  shouted  at  the  girl.  They 
shouted  at  the  novelist,  a  circumstance  which  did  not 
prevent  him  from  breakfasting. 

The  fruit,  the  crescents,  the  coffee  he  consumed, 
not  as  was  customary,  with  his  thoughts  on  his  own 

220 


THE    PALISER   CASE  221 

copy,  but  on  that  which  the  paper  supplied.  It  was 
very  colourful.  At  the  opera,  the  night  before,  Monty 
Paliser  had  been  killed. 

In  New  York,  many  men  are  killed,  but  not  so  many 
are  murdered  and  of  those  that  are  murdered,  few 
are  millionaires  and  fewer  still  have  a  box  at  the  Met 
ropolitan,  where,  apart  from  stage  business,  no  one  up 
to  then  had  been  done  for.  The  case  was  therefore 
unique  and,  save  for  the  assassination  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,  without  a  parallel.  In  the  circumstances,  the 
leaded  line  of  leaping  words  was  justified. 

According  to  the  story  that  followed  and  which, 
Jones  realised,  must  have  reached  the  city  editor  just 
as  the  paper  was  going  to  press,  an  attendant,  whose 
duty  it  was  to  visit  the  boxes  after  the  performance 
and  see  what,  if  anything,  the  occupants  had  forgot 
ten,  had,  on  entering  Paliser's  box,  found  him  at  the 
back  of  it,  unconscious,  on  the  floor.  There  were  no 
external  marks  of  violence,  but  a  commandeered 
physician  pronounced  him  dead  and,  on  examination, 
further  pronounced  that  death  was  due  to  internal 
hemorrhage,  superinduced  by  heart-puncture,  which 
itself  had  been  caused  by  some  instrument,  presum 
ably  a  stiletto. 

A  picturesque  detail  followed.  The  box  at  the  right 
was  owned  by  the  Leroy  Thompsons.  The  box  at 
the  left  was  the  Harriwells'.  At  the  late  hour,  an  at 
tempt  to  communicate  with  the  former  had  failed, 
but  over  the  wire,  Mr.  Legrand  Harriwell  stated  that 
the  deceased  had  come  in  during  the  third  act,  that 
he  had  spoken  to  Mrs.  Harriwell,  after  which  he  had 
moved  back  and  had  either  gone,  or  remained  in  the 
rear  of  the  box.  Mr.  Harriwell  knew  nothing  else, 
he  had  been  unaware  of  anything  occurring,  he  was 


222  THE   PALISER   CASE 

not  in  the  habit  of  spying  about  and  he  wished  it  dis 
tinctly  understood  that  he  must  not  be  mixed  up  in 
the  matter,  or  Mrs.  Harriwell  either. 

The  dear  thing!  thought  Jones,  who  saw  him,  a  tall, 
thin-lipped  beast  of  a  brute,  with  a  haw-haw  manner 
and  an  arrogant  air.  God  bless  him! 

But,  Jones  resumed  to  himself,  voyons !  The  opera 
was  Aida.  Paliser  came  in  during  the  third  act.  The 
house  then  is  brilliant.  But  during  the  fourth — the 
duo  in  the  crypt — it  is  dark.  It  was  then  that  he  was 
done  for  and  with  what  is  assumed  to  have  been  a 
stiletto. 

To  cut  out  the  account,  Jones  turned  in  search  of  a 
dagger,  long,  thin,  wicked,  which,  one  adventurous 
night  in  Naples,  he  had  found — just  in  time — in  his 
back.  On  the  blade  was  inscribed  a  promise,  Pene- 
trabo.  Now  his  eyes  roamed  the  table.  He  lifted 
the  tray,  lifted  his  copy,  looked  on  the  floor.  Yet  only 
the  evening  before,  when  Lennox  was  there  and  Cassy 
Cara  had  come,  he  had  seen  it.  Since  then  it  had 
gone. 

The  disappearance  did  not  disturb  him.  Occasion 
ally,  in  hunting  for  an  object,  he  found  it  in  his  hand. 
It  is  somewhere,  he  cogently  reflected  and,  taking  a 
pencil,  set  to  work. 

But  the  muse  was  timorous  as  a  chicken.  The  meta 
phor  is  entirely  metaphorical.  Jones  had  no  faith  in 
the  wanton.  He  believed  in  regular  hours,  in  silence 
and  no  interruptions.  No  intrusions  of  any  kind.  A 
letter  was  an  intrusion,  so  also  was  the  news  of  the 
day.  These  things  he  considered,  when  he  did  con 
sider  them,  after  his  work  was  done.  Sometimes  he 
ignored  them  entirely.  Usually  he  had  a  bushel  of 
letters  that  he  had  not  opened,  a  bale  of  papers  at 


THE    PALISER    CASE  223 

which  he  had  not  looked.  Of  such  is  the  life  known 
as  literary  or,  at  any  rate,  such  was  the  life  led  by 
Jones. 

On  this  morning,  his  copy,  ordinarily  fluent  enough, 
would  not  come.  Ideas  fluttered  away  just  out  of 
reach.  The  sequence  of  a  chapter  had  been  in  his 
head.  Like  the  dagger,  it  had  gone.  He  could  not 
account  for  that  disappearance,  nor  did  he  try.  It 
would  turn  up  again.  So,  ultimately,  would  the  ousted 
sequence.  For  the  latter's  departure  he  did  not  try 
to  account  either.  The  effort  was  needless.  He  knew. 
An  interruption  had  occurred.  The  news  of  the  day 
had  intruded  itself  upon  him.  A  headline  had  en 
tangled  his  thoughts. 

Abandoning  the  pencil,  he  lit  a  cigarette.  Across 
the  room,  above  the  bookcase,  was  a  stretch  of  silk, 
a  flight  of  dragons  that  he  had  got  in  Rangoon.  Above 
the  silk  was  an  ivory  mask,  the  spoil  of  a  sarcophagus, 
which  he  had  found  in  Seville.  He  looked  at  them. 
The  dragons  fled  on,  the  mask  fell  asleep.  Something 
else  took  their  place. 

On  the  wall  was  the  scene  at  the  opera. 

In  the  golden  gloom  of  the  darkened  house,  it 
showed  Paliser,  sitting  back  in  his  box,  presumably 
enjoying  the  Terra  addio,  for  which  Caruso  had,  as 
usual,  been  saving  himself.  Without,  in  the  corridor, 
a  figure  furtively  peering  at  the  names  on  the  doors. 
Then  the  voice  of  the  soprano  blending  with  that  of 
the  tenor  and,  during  the  divine  duo,  the  door  of  the 
box  opening,  letting  in  a  thread  of  light ;  Paliser  turn 
ing  to  look  and  beholding  that  figure  and  a  hand  which, 
instantly  descending,  deepened  the  gloom  forever. 

It  was  certainly  Terra  addio,  Jones  reflected.    Cer- 


224  THE    PALISER   CASE 

tainly,  too,  the  scene  is  easy  enough  to  reconstruct. 
But  whose  was  the  hand? 

Flicking  his  ashes,  he  looked  about  and  saw  two 
hands,  between  which,  he  also  saw,  he  was  entirely 
free  to  pick  and  choose.  One  hand,  slight  and  fragile, 
was  Cassy  Cara's.  The  other,  firm  and  virile,  was 
Lennox'. 

Lennox  had  threatened.  He  had  been  acidly  mur 
derous.  He  had  a  motive.  He  had  the  opportunity. 
He  knew  where  Paliser  would  be.  He  had  been  sup 
plied  with  a  seat  in  that  box.  The  hand  was  his.  It 
was  a  clear  case.  That  was  obvious,  particularly  to 
Jones,  who  regarded  the  obvious  as  very  misleading. 

Given  the  chance,  he  reflected,  and  Lennox  might 
have  done  for  Paliser,  but  he  would  have  done  for 
him  with  bare  fists,  never  with  a  knife.  It  was  not 
Lennox  to  use  one.  It  was  not  Lennox  at  all. 

Jones  threw  him  out  and  pulled  in  Cassy  Cara. 

The  case  against  her  was  equally  clear.  Presuma 
bly  she  owned  the  stiletto  which  a  hat  pin  is.  In  ad 
dition,  she  also  had  a  motive.  If  ever  a  girl  had  cause 
to  up  and  do  it,  she  had.  Then,  too,  the  risk  was 
negligible.  Any  jury  would  acquit  and  tumble  over 
each  other  to  shake  hands  with  her.  For  equity  has 
justice  that  the  law  does  not  know.  Moreover  there 
are  crimes  that  jurists  have  not  codified.  Some 
are  too  inhuman,  others  too  human.  Cassy's  right 
ing  of  her  own  wrongs  belonged  among  the  latter. 
Cassy's,  that  is,  provided  she  had  done  it.  But  had 
she?  Logically,  yes.  If  the  police  could  look  behind 
the  scenes,  logically  they  would  say  to  her,  "Thou  art 
the  man." 

But,  Jones  resumed,  logic  when  pushed  far  enough 
becomes  incoherence.  The  psychologist  prefers  vi- 


THE   PALISER   CASE  225 

sion  and  it  would  display  none  to  believe  that  she  did 
it.  In  the  abstract,  that  is  to  be  regretted.  A  lovely 
assassin!  A  beautiful  girl  slaying  a  recreant  lover! 
A  future  prima  donna  killing  a  local  millionaire! 
Monty  Paliser  murdered  by  the  Viscountess  of  Casa- 
Evora!  And  at  the  opera!  If  I  had  ever  put  any 
thing  of  the  kind  in  my  copy,  reviewers  would  have 
indolently  asked :  "Why  doesn't  this  imbecile  study 
life?" 

Jones  laughed.  The  enjoyment  of  one's  own  ideas 
— or  of  the  absence  of  them — is  a  literary  trait.  When 
Dumas  wrote,  he  roared. 

Here  it  is,  then,  Jones  continued.  If  the  police  knew 
certain  things  they  would  nab  Lennox.  If  they  knew 
others,  they  would  nab  Cassy  Cara.  If  they  knew 
more,  they  would  nab  me.  I  should  be  held  as  a  wit 
ness.  This  is  cheerful,  particularly  as  my  sole  com 
plicity  in  the  matter  has  been  due  to  a  desire  to  be  of 
use.  But  that  is  just  it.  Through  the  enigmatic  laws 
of  life,  any  kindness  is  repaid  in  pain. 

Pleasurably,  for  a  moment,  he  considered  the  altru 
ism  of  that  aphorism.  Then  he  got  back  at  the  mur 
der  which,  he  decided,  must  have  been  premeditated 
by  some  one  who  knew  where  Paliser  would  be.  That 
conclusion  reached,  he  groped  for  another.  Lennox 
knew,  but  did  Cassy  know,  and,  if  she  did,  had  she 
utilised  the  knowledge? 

To  decide  the  point  he  reviewed  the  visit  of  the 
previous  evening. 

Ostensibly  Cassy's  visit  had  been  occasioned  not 
by  any  wish  to  relate  what  had  happened  to  her,  but 
to  acquaint  Lennox  with  the  cause  of  what  had  hap 
pened  to  him.  In  view  of  what  had  befallen  her,  the 
proceeding  was  certainly  considerate.  In  the  misad- 


226  THE    PALISER   CASE 

ventures  of  life,  the  individual  is  usually  so  obsessed 
by  his  own  troubles  that  they  blind  him  to  those  of 
another.  But  ostensibly  Cassy  had  sunk  her  troubles 
and  had  pulled  them  up,  not  to  exhibit  them,  but  to 
show  Lennox  the  lay  of  the  land  as  it  affected  not  her 
at  all  but  him.  The  proceeding  was  certainly  consid 
erate — unless  it  were  astute,  unless  her  object  had  been 
to  employ  Lennox  for  the  wreaking  of  her  own  re 
venge. 

That  was  possible,  but  was  it  probable? 

An  ordinary  young  woman  would  have  gone  at  it 
differently,  gone  at  it  hammer  and  tongs.  Cassy's 
methods  were  merely  finer.  That  was  the  common 
sense  view.  But  was  it  psychology?  The  common 
sense  view  that  is  applicable  to  the  average  individual 
is  inapplicable  to  a  problematic  nature  and,  conse 
quently,  not  to  Cassy,  who  must  therefore  have  had 
another  incentive  for  her  visit,  an  incentive  stronger 
than  the  primitive  instinct  for  revenge. 

But,  Jones  asked  himself,  what  are  the  fundamental 
principles  of  human  activity?  They  are  self-preser 
vation  and  the  perpetuation  of  the  species.  Every 
idea  that  has  existed,  or  does  exist,  in  the  mind  of 
man  is  the  result  of  the  permutations  and  combina 
tions  of  those  two  principles,  of  which  the  second  is 
the  stronger  and  its  basis  is  sex.  That  is  what  actuated 
Cassy.  She  is,  or  was,  in  love  with  Lennox,  and  told 
him  for  no  other  reason. 

That  is  it,  Jones  decided.  But  the  course  of  her 
true  love  could  not  have  run  very  smooth  and,  know 
ing  that  Lennox  was  otherwise  interested,  she  took 
up  with  Paliser  out  of  pique. 

Pique !  he  repeated.  But  no,  that  is  not  Cassy  Cara 
either.  She 


THE    PALISER    CASE  227 

Like  a  thread  snapped  suddenly,  the  novelist's  medi 
tations  ceased.  On  the  wall  before  him  the  dragons 
alighted,  the  mask  awoke.  Between  them  a  canvas 
was  emerging.  Dim,  shadowy,  uncertain,  it  hesi 
tated,  wavered,  advanced. 

Then,  as  it  hung  unsupported  in  the  air — far  too 
unsupported,  he  presently  thought — he  looked  it  over. 

To  apparitions  he  was  accustomed.  They  were  part 
of  his  equipment.  Unsummoned,  without  incanta 
tions  they  came,  sent,  one  might  think,  by  the  muse 
whom  he  derided,  but  more  naturally  and  very  simply 
produced  by  the  machinery  in  his  brain. 

Now,  as  he  examined  the  canvas,  its  imprecision 
diminished,  the  shadows  passed,  the  obscurity  lifted, 
the  penumbra  brightened,  outlines  defined  themselves, 
the  colouring  appeared,  a  colouring,  after  the  manner 
of  Rembrandt,  composed  of  darkness  in  which  there  is 
light  and  which,  as  such,  reveals. 

Jones  stood  up,  turned  around  and  sat  down  again 
as  gamblers,  disquieted  by  their  luck,  will  do. 

Before  him  still  the  picture  floated.  He  disavowed 
it,  disowned  it.  Yet  there  it  was,  the  child  of  his 
fancy,  the  first-born  of  the  morning,  the  fruit  of  his 
concentrated  thought,  and  as,  surprisedly,  he  consid 
ered  it,  it  took  on  such  semblances  of  legitimacy,  that 
the  disavowals  ceased.  Then,  slowly  disintegrating, 
its  consistence  lessened.  It  was  departing,  vaporously 
as  it  had  come.  Jones  waved  at  it,  omitting  out  of 
sheer  abstraction  to  say  Au  revoir,  yet  omitting  also, 
and  through  equal  modesty,  to  say  Eureka! 

He  pressed  a  button.  Instantly,  as  though  sprung 
from  a  trap,  his  servant  appeared. 

"Get  Mr.  Lennox  on  the  telephone." 


228  THE    PALISER   CASE 

The  minutes  lengthened.  Finally  the  servant  re 
appeared. 

"Mr.  Lennox  is  not  at  home,  sir.  His  man  says 
he's  gone  to  Centre  Street.  He's  been  arrested.  Mr. 
Lennox  has  been  arrested.  Yes,  sir." 

Pausing,  the  servant  cocked  an  ear  and  added: 
"They're  calling  extras,  sir.  Would  you  wish  one?" 

Circuitously,  through  the  open  door,  the  cat,  her  tail 
in  the  air,  approached  and  wowed. 

Jones  leaned  over  and  tickled  her  in  the  stomach. 
The  cat  hopped  up  on  him.  He  put  a  finger  to  his  fore 
head,  held  it  there,  removed  it  and  looked  at  the  man. 

"In  war-time,  with  the  price  of  everything  going 
up,  it  is  a  criminal  waste  of  money  to  buy  an  extr? — 
particularly  when  you  know  what  isn't  in  it." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Jones  motioned.  "Look  through  the  old  news 
papers.  Among  the  March  issues  there  is  one  that  has 
an  article  entitled  The  Matter  of  Ziegler.'  Let  me 
have  it." 

The  cat,  now  on  his  shoulder,  purred  profusely  in 
his  ear.  Raising  a  hand,  he  tickled  her  again. 

"Mimi-Meow,  this  Matter  of  Ziegler  may  interest 
us  very  much  and  after  we  have  looked  it  over,  I  will 
attend  to  our  friend  von  Lennox,  who  seems  to  have 
become  a  Hun." 


XXIX 

A  LREADY  over  the  picked-up  codfish,  flapjacks, 
•*  *•  Hamburg  steaks  and  cognate  enticements  on 
which  the  Bronx  and  Harlem  breakfasts,  the  news  of  it 
had  buttered  the  toast,  flavoured  the  coffee,  added  a 
sweetness  to  this  April  day  and  provided  a  cocktail 
to  people  who  did  not  know  Paliser  from  the  Pierrot 
in  the  moon.  That  he  was  spectacularly  wealthy  was 
a  tid-bit,  that  he  had  been  killed  at  the  Metropolitan 
was  a  delight,  the  war  news  was  nothing  to  the  fact 
that  the  party  with  the  stiletto  had  escaped  "unbe 
knownst."  These  people  were  unacquainted  with 
Paliser.  But  here  was  a  young  man  with  an  opera- 
box  of  his  own,  and  think  of  that!  Here  was  the 
mythological  monster  that  the  Knickerbocker  has  be 
come.  Here  was  the  heir  to  unearned  and  untold  in 
crements.  These  attributes  made  him  as  delectable 
to  the  majority  who  did  not  know  him,  as  he  had  be 
come  to  the  privileged  few  who  did. 

Elsewhere,  and  particularly  in  and  about  fashion's 
final  citadel  which  the  Plaza  is,  solemn  imbeciles  viewed 
the  matter  vehemently.  "Young  Paliser!  Why, 
there  is  no  better  blood  in  town !  By  Jove,  I  believe 
we  are  related!" 

Or  else:  "That's  M.  P.'s  son,  isn't  it?  Yes,  here  it 
is.  I  never  met  the  old  cock  but  I  heard  of  him  long 
before  we  came  East.  A  damned  outrage,  that's  what 
I  call  it." 

229 


230  THE    PALISER   CASE 

Or  again :  "Dear  me,  what  is  the  world  coming  to? 
What  a  blessing  it  is  we  were  not  there.  They  might 
have  come  and  murdered  us  all !" 

Adjacently,  in  clubland,  old  men  with  one  foot  in 
the  grave  and  the  other  on  Broadway,  exchanged 
reminiscences  of  the  nights  when  social  New  York 
was  a  small  and  early  family  party  and  M.  P.  led  the 
ball,  and  at  a  pace  so  klinking  that  he  danced  beyond 
the  favours  of  the  cotillon — the  german  as  it,  the  cotil 
lon,  was  then  lovingly  called — into  assemblies,  cer 
tainly  less  select,  but  certainly,  too,  more  gay,  and  had 
horrified  scrumptious  sedateness  with  the  uproar  of  his 
orgies. 

The  indicated  obituaries  followed.  "Well,  at  any 
rate,  they  didn't  murder  him  for  it."  "The  son  now, 
a  chip  of  the  old  block,  eh?"  "Nothing  of  the  kind, 

a  quiet  young  prig."  "The  papers  say "  "Damn 

the  papers,  they  never  know  anything."  "You  mean 
they  don't  print  what  they  do  know."  "I  mean  they 
don't  give  us  the  woman.  For  it  was  a  woman.  I'll 
eat  my  hat  it  was  a  woman."  "Let's  have  lunch 
instead." 

Generally,  for  the  moment,  that  was  the  verdict,  one 
in  which  the  police  had  already  collaborated.  But 
what  woman?  And,  assuming  the  woman,  whence 
had  she  come?  Where  had  she  gone? — problems, 
momentarily  insoluble  but  which  investigations,  then 
in  progress,  would  probably  decide. 

At  the  great  white  house  on  upper  Fifth  Avenue, 
the  servants  knew  only  that  they  knew  nothing.  Noth 
ing  at  all.  Already  coached,  they  were  sure  and  un 
shakable  in  their  knowledge  of  that.  A  Mr.  Harvey 
— from  Headquarters — could  not  budge  them  an  inch. 
Not  one! 


THE    PALISER    CASE 

The  night  before,  at  the  first  intelligence  of  it, 
M.  P.  came  nearer  to  giving  up  the  ghost  than  is  com 
monly  advisable.  Suffocation  seized  him.  An  incu 
bus  within  was  pushing  his  life-springs  out.  So  can 
emotion  and  an  impaired  digestion  affect  a  father. 
The  emotion  was  not  caused  by  grief.  It  was  fear. 
For  weeks,  for  months,  during  the  tedium  and  terror 
of  the  trial,  his  name,  Paliser,  would  top  the  page!  It 
had  topped  it  before,  very  often,  but  that  was  years 
ago.  Then  he  had  not  cared.  Then  the  wine  of  youth 
still  bubbled.  No,  he  had  not  cared.  But  that  was 
long  ago.  Since  then  the  wine  of  youth  had  gone, 
spilled  in  those  orgies  which  he  had  survived,  yet,  in 
the  survival,  abandoned  more  and  more  to  solitude  and 
making  him  seek,  what  the  solitary  ever  do  seek,  in- 
conspicuousness.  For  years  he  had  courted  obscurity 
as  imbeciles  court  fame.  And  now! 

If  only  the  boy  had  had  the  decency  to  die  of  pneu 
monia  ! 

It  was  then  the  incubus  gripped  him.  For  a  second 
he  saw  the  visage,  infinitely  consoling,  that  Death  can 
display  and  possibly,  but  for  an  immediate  drug,  there 
too  would  have  echoed  the  Terra  addio! 

He  was  then  in  white  velvet.  A  preparation  of 
menthe,  dripping  from  a  phial,  spotted  it  green.  He 
did  not  notice.  At  the  moment  the  spasm  had  him. 
Then  as  that  clicked  and  passed,  he  looked  in  the 
expressionless  face  of  the  butler  who  had  told  him. 

The  spasm  had  shaken  him  into  a  chair. 

The  room,  an  oblong,  was  furnished  after  a  fashion 
of  long  ago.  The  daised  bed  was  ascended  by  low, 
wide  steps.  Beyond  stood  a  table  of  lapis-lazuli.  A 
mantel  of  the  same  material  was  surmounted  by  a 
mirror  framed  in  jasper.  Beneath  the  mirror,  a  fire 


232  THE   PALISER   CASE 

burned  dimly.  The  lights  too  were  dim.  They  were 
diffused  by  tall  wax  candles  that  stood  shaded  in  high 
gold  sticks.  On  the  table  there  were  three  of  them. 

The  chair  was  near  this  table,  at  which  M.  P.  had 
been  occupied  very  laboriously,  in  doing  nothing,  a 
task  that  he  performed  in  preparation  for  the  bed, 
which  was  always  ready  for  him,  and  for  sleep,  which 
seldom  was.  There  he  had  been  told.  It  had  shaken 
him  to  his  feet,  shaken  apoplexy  at  him  and  shaken 
him  back  in  the  chair. 

Now,  as  he  looked  at  the  servant's  wooden  mask, 
for  a  moment  he  relived  an  age,  not  a  pleasant  one 
either  and  of  which  this  blow,  had  he  known  it,  was 
perhaps  the  karma.  He  did  not  know  it.  He  knew 
nothing  of  karma.  None  the  less,  with  that  curious 
intuition  which  the  great  crises  induce,  he  too  divined 
the  woman  and  wished  to  God  that  he  had  kept  his 
hands  off,  wished  that  he  had  not  interfered  and  told 
Monty  to  put  her  in  a  flat  and  be  damned  to  her! 
It  was  she,  he  could  have  sworn  it.  At  once,  precisely 
as  he  wished  he  had  let  her  alone,  he  hoped  and  quite 
as  fervently  that  she  had  covered  her  tracks,  that 
there  would  be  no  trial,  nothing  but  inept  conjectures 
and  that  forgetfulness  in  which  all  things,  good  and 
bad,  lose  their  way. 

The  futility  of  wishing  passed.  The  time  for  ac 
tion  had  come.  He  motioned.  "Is  Benny  here?" 

"He  left  this  noon,  sir." 

"Did  he  say  anything?" 

The  butler  did  not  know  whether  to  lie  or  not,  but 
seeing  no  personal  advantage  in  either  course,  he 
hedged.  "Very  little,  sir." 

That  little,  the  old  man  weighed.  A  little  is  often 
enough.  It  may  be  too  much. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  233 

"He  spoke  about  a  girl,  eh?" 

"He  said  a  lady  was  stopping  there.     Yes,  sir." 

"What  else?" 

The  butler  shuffled.  "He  said  she  was  very  pretty, 
sir." 

"Go  on,  Canlon." 

"Well,  sir,  it  seems  there  was  a  joke  about  it.  The 
young  lady  thought  she  was  married." 

"How  was  that?" 

"I'm  not  supposed  to  know,  sir.  But  from  what 
was  let  on,  Benny  was  rigged  out  as  a  dominie  and  it 
made  'em  laugh." 

The  old  man  ran  his  head  out  like  a  turtle.  "Damna 
tion,  what  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"Why,  sir,  he  pretended  to  marry  her." 

"Benny  did?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"He  pretended  that  she  was  his  wife." 

"No,  sir,  he  pretended  to  marry  her  to  Mr.  Monty." 

"Good  God!"  the  old  man  muttered  and  sank  back. 
The  blackness  was  blacker  than  any  black  he  had  en 
tered.  In  days  gone  by,  he  had  agreeably  shocked 
New  York  with  the  splendid  uproar  of  his  orgies.  He 
had  left  undone  those  things  which  he  ought  to  have 
done  and  done  those  things  which  he  should  have 
avoided.  He  had  been  whatever  you  like — or  dislike 
— but  never  had  he  been  dishonest.  Little  that  would 
avail  him  now.  If  this  turpitude  were  published,  it 
would  be  said  that  he  had  fathered  it.  At  the  prospect, 
he  felt  the  incubus  returning.  In  a  moment  it  would 
have  him  and,  spillingly,  he  drank  the  green  drug. 

The  agony  receded,  but  the  nightmare  confronted 
him.  He  grappled  with  it. 


234  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"The  coat  I  had  on  at  dinner.  There  is  a  card-case 
in  the  pocket.  Give  it  to  me." 

Probably  it  was  all  very  useless.  Probably  no  mat 
ter  what  he  contrived,  the  police  would  ferret  her  out. 
There  was  just  one  chance  though  which,  properly 
taken,  might  save  the  situation. 

The  card-case,  pale  damask,  lined  with  pale  silk, 
the  man  brought  him.  He  put  it  on  the  table. 

"Canlon!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Benny  said  nothing." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

"I  have  a  few  hundred  for  you  here,  between  eight 
and  nine,  I  think." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"To-morrow  there  will  be  more." 

"I  am  sure  I  am  very  grateful,  sir." 

"Don't  interrupt  me.  Recently  my  son  returned 
from  Cuba.  Occasionally  he  went  visiting.  Where 
he  went,  he  did  not  tell  you.  That  is  all  you  know. 
You  know  nothing  else.  You  heard  nothing.  No 
body  here  heard  anything.  Nobody,  in  this  house, 
knows  anything  at  all.  You  understand  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  see  to  it.  The  police  will  come.  You  must 
be  at  the  door.  You  know  now  what  to  say.  They 
will  want  a  word  with  me.  I  am  too  prostrated  to 
see  anybody." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"Telephone  to  the  Place.  Get  Benny.  Repeat  my 
orders.  Say  I  will  do  as  well  by  him  as  I  shall  by  you." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"Take  the  money.     You  may  have  the  case  also." 

"I  thank  you,  sir." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  235 

'Tell  Peters  to  fetch  me  some  brandy.  The  1810. 
That  will  do/' 

Presently,  when  the  police  did  come  and,  several 
hours  later,  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Harvey,  came  again, 
they  came  upon  the  barriers,  invisible  and  unscalable, 
which  ignorance,  properly  paid,  can  erect.  With  an 
empty  bag,  Mr.  Harvey  made  off ;  not  far,  however,  a 
few  squares  below  to  the  Athenaeum  Club. 

There,  the  hall-porter  succeeded  in  being  magnificent. 
The  strange  and  early  visitor  he  rebuked.  It  was  not 
customary  for  members  to  be  murdered! 

A  badge,  carelessly  disclosed,  disconcerted  him. 
For  a  second  only.  However  unusual  a  member  might 
be,  no  information  could  be  supplied  concerning  him. 
There  was  another  rule,  equally  strict.  Strangers  were 
not  admitted.  Though,  whether  the  rule  applied  to 
a  bull,  he  was  uncertain.  Momentarily,  the  hall-por 
ter,  previously  magnificent,  became  an  unhappy  man. 
Misery  is  fertile.  A  compromise  surprised  him. 

He  crooked  a  thumb.  "Here!  Go  'round  by  the 
back  way  and  ask  for  Mr.  Johnson — he's  one  of  the 
captains." 

From  the  steps,  in  the  slanting  rays  of  the  morning 
sun,  he  saw  him  off.  But  the  gaiety  of  the  eager  rays 
that  charged  the  air  with  little  gold  motes,  did  not 
cheer  him.  The  lustre  of  his  office  was  tarnished.  A 
member  had  been  murdered!  It  was  most  unusual. 

Meanwhile,  down  the  area  steps,  a  hostile  and  hasty 
youth  in  shirt-sleeves  and  a  slashed  waistcoat  barred 
the  way.  The  barring  was  brief.  The  badge  and  a 
smile  demolished  it.  Within,  beneath  a  low  ceiling, 
at  a  long  table,  other  youths,  equally  slashed  but  less 
hostile,  were  at  breakfast. 

Affably,  the  intruder  raised  a  hand.     "Gentlemen, 


236  THE   PALISER   CASE 

don't  let  me  disturb  you.  I'm  just  having  a  look-in 
on  Mr.  Johnson." 

Mr.  Johnson  did  not  breakfast  with  slashed  young 
men;  it  would  have  been  subversive  to  discipline,  and 
it  was  negligently,  through  a  lateral  entrance,  that 
presently  he  appeared.  In  evening  clothes  on  this 
early  morning,  he  surveyed  his  visitor,  a  big  fellow 
with  a  slight  moustache,  an  easy  way  and  a  missing 
front  tooth,  who  went  straight  at  it. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Johnson.  My  name's 
Harvey.  It's  about  young  Paliser.  There  may  be 
something  in  it  for  you.  I'm  from  Headquarters." 

The  captain  coughed.  "It's  awful.  I  can't  tell  you 
anything  though.  He  wasn't  here  often.  Doubt  if 
I've  seen  him  in  a  week."  He  looked  about.  The 
slashed  youths  were  edging  up.  "Come  in  here." 

In  an  adjoining  room,  he  took  a  chair,  waved 
politely  at  another,  coughed  again  and  resumed.  "You 
say  there  may  be  something  in  it  for  me?" 

Mr.  Harvey  sat  down.  "Cert.  There'll  be  a  re 
ward — a  big  one." 

The  captain  turned  it  over.  "It  is  as  much  as  my 
place  is  worth,  but  last  evening  one  of  the  members 
was  talking  fierce  about  him." 

"Yes,  so  I  heard,"  said  Mr.  Harvey,  who  had  heard 
nothing  of  trn  kind  and  who,  not  for  an  instant,  had 
expected  to  tumble  on  a  fierce-talking  member.  "I 
heard  his  name  too.  It's — er " 

"Lennox,"  the  captain  put  in. 

"Lennox,  yes,  that's  it,  and  just  to  see  how  my  ac 
count  tallies  with  yours,  what  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  he'd  do  for  him.     I  could  have  laughed." 

"It  was  funny,  I  laughed  myself,  and  about  a  wo 
man,  wasn't  it?" 


THE    PALISER    CASE  237 

"I  don't  know.  But  he  was  engaged  to  be  married. 
I  saw  it  in  the  papers." 

"And  this  young  Paliser  butted  in?" 

"I  couldn't  say.  But  he  threw  up  his  business  and 
sat  around  and  last  night  he  was  going  to  do  for  him." 

"At  the  opera?" 

"He  was  talking  random-like.  He  had  just  had  a 
B.  and  S.  I  didn't  hear  anything  about  the  opera. 
He  wasn't  got  up  for  it.  Just  a  business  suit.  But, 
Lord  bless  you,  he  didn't  do  it.  He  isn't  that  kind. 
Nice,  free-handed  feller." 

"No,  of  course  not.  I  wouldn't  believe  it,  not  if 
you  told  me  so.  Let  me  see.  Where  did  I  hear  he 
lives?" 

"I  don't  rightly  know.  Somewhere  in  the  neigh 
bourhood/' 

"So  I  thought  and  his  first  name  is  ?" 

"I've  forgotten.  Hold  on!  Keith!  That's  it. 
Keith  Lennox.  Are  you  going  to  see  him?  P'raps 
he  can  set  you  straight." 

"P'raps  he  can." 

"But  don't  let  on  about  me,  my  friend." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  replied  his  friend,  who  added : 
"Where's  your  hat?" 

"My  hat !"  Mr.  Johnson  surprisedly  exclaimed. 

Affably  that  friend  of  his  nodded.  "Ever  been  to 
Headquarters?  Well,  you're  going  there  now!" 

Then,  presently,  the  captain  and  his  friend  ascended 
a  stairway,  down  which,  a  few  hours  later,  hoarse 
voices  came. 

"Extra!     Extra!" 


XXX 

AT  the  Athenaeum,  that  afternoon,  members  gath- 
•**•  ered  together,  buttonholed  each  other,  talked  it 
over  and  so  importantly  that,  if  you  had  not  known 
better,  you  might  have  thought  the  war  a  minor  event. 
It  gave  one  rather  a  clear  idea  of  the  parochialism 
of  clubland.  But  then,  to  discuss  the  affairs  of  people 
who  never  heard  of  you  is,  essentially,  a  social  act. 

Meanwhile  the  shouted  extras  had  told  of  Lennox* 
arrest.  The  evening  papers  supplied  the  evidence. 

In  them  you  read  that  Lennox  had  said  he  would 
"do"  for  Paliser,  that  in  his  possession  had  been 
found  a  stiletto,  an  opera-check,  together  with  a  will, 
and  that,  when  apprehended,  he  had  been  effecting 
what  is  called  a  getaway. 

There  you  had  the  threat,  the  instrument,  the  op 
portunity  and  what  more  could  you  ask,  except  the 
motive?  As  for  the  rest,  it  was  damning.  On  that 
point  foregathering  members  agreed — with  one  ex 
ception. 

In  a  seated  group  was  Jones.  His  neighbours 
alarmed  him.  They  belonged,  he  thought,  to  a  very 
dangerous  class,  to  a  class  which  a  sociologist  defined 
as  the  most  dangerous  of  all — to  the  stupid.  Accord 
ing  to  them,  Lennox  was  not  merely  guilty,  he  was 
worse.  He  had  besplattered  the  club  with  the  blood 
of  a  man  who,  hang  it  all,  whether  you  liked  him  or 
not,  was  also  a  member.  The  Athenaeum  would  be- 

238 


THE   PALISER   CASE  239 

come  a  byword.  Already,  no  doubt,  it  was  known 
as  the  Assassin's.  Et  cetera  and  so  forth. 

The  group  thinned,  increased,  thinned  again,  scat 
tered. 

Jones,  alone  with  a  survivor,  addressed  him.  "How 
is  my  handsome  friend  to-day?" 

Verelst  turned  impatiently.  "In  no  mood  for  jest 
ing.  I  ought  to  have  hurried  him  off.  Now  he  is  in 
jail" 

Jones  lit  a  cigarette.  "There  are  honest  men  every 
where,  even  in  jail,  perhaps  particularly  in  jail.  Whom 
has  he,  do  you  know?" 

"To  defend  him?  Dunwoodie.  Ogston  told  me. 
Ogston  says " 

"I  daresay  he  does.  His  remarks  are  always  very 
poignant." 

"But  look  here.  Before  the  arrest  was  known,  Ogs 
ton  was  in  this  room  telling  everybody  that,  last  night, 
he  gave  Lennox  a  seat  in  Paliser's  box.  He  will  have 
to  testify  to  it.  He  can't  help  himself." 

"Perhaps  I  can  help  him  though.  I  was  with  Len 
nox  at  the  time." 

"You  were?  That's  awkward.  You  may  have  to 
corroborate  him." 

"I  certainly  shall.     I  have  the  seat." 

"What?" 

"Lennox  dropped  the  ticket.  After  he  had  gone, 
I  found  it  on  the  floor.  It  is  in  my  shop  now." 

"Well,  well!"  Verelst  astoundedly  exclaimed.  "But, 
here,  hold  on.  The  papers  say  he  had  a  return  check." 

Jones  flicked  his  ashes.  "I  have  one  or  two  myself. 
Probably  you  have.  Even  otherwise  return  checks 
tell  no  tales,  or  rather  no  dates." 

"I  never  thought  of  that." 

"Think  of  it  now,  then." 


240  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"Yes,  but  confound  it,  there  is  the  stiletto." 

"As  you  say,  there  it  is  and  I  wish  it  were  here. 
It  is  mine." 

Verelst  adjusted  his  glasses.  "What  are  you  talk 
ing  about?" 

"The  war,"  Jones  answered.  "What  else?  In  my 
shop  last  evening,  Lennox  was  drawing  his  will.  In 
gathering  up  the  sheets,  the  knife  must  have  got  among 
them  and,  without  knowing  it,  he  carried  it  off.  This 
morning  I  missed  it.  The  loss  affected  me  profound 
ly.  It  is  an  old  friend." 

"You  don't  tell  me." 

"Don't  I?  I'll  go  so  far  as  to  lay  you  another 
basket  of  pippins  that  the  police  can't  produce  another 
like  it.  On  the  blade  is  inscribed  Penetrabo — which  is 
an  endearing  device." 

"But  see  here,"  Verelst  excitedly  exclaimed.  "You 
must  tell  Dunwoodie.  You "  In  sheer  astonish 
ment  he  broke  off. 

Innocently  Jones  surveyed  him.  "You  think  it  im 
portant  as  all  that  ?" 

"Important?     Important  isn't  the  word." 

With  the  same  air  of  innocence,  Jones  nodded.  "I 
thought  it  wasn't  the  word.  I  should  have  said 
trivial." 

"But " 

Wickedly  Jones  laughed.  "If  you  feel  reckless 
enough  to  go  another  basket  of  pippins,  I  will  wager 
that  if  I  tell  Dunwoodie  anything — and  mind  the  'if 
— he  will  agree  that  the  paper-cutter  is  of  no  con 
sequence — except  to  its  lawful  owner,  who  wants  it 
back." 

"But  tell  me " 

"Anything  you  like.  For  the  moment,  though,  tell 
me  something." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  241 

"What?" 

Jones  blew  a  ring  of  smoke.  "Do  you  happen  to 
know  whether  Paliser  had  anything?" 

"What  on  earth  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

Jones  blew  another  ring.  "I  had  an  idea  that  his 
mother  might  have  left  him  something.  You  knew 
her,  didn't  you  ?  Any  way,  you  still  know  M.  P.  Did 
he  ever  say  anything  about  it?" 

"He  did  not  need  to.  It  was  in  the  papers.  He 
made  over  to  him  the  Splendor,  the  Place,  and  some 
Wall  Street  and  lower  Broadway  property  that  has 
been  part  of  the  Paliser  estate  since  the  year  One." 

"What  is  it  all  worth?"  Jones  asked.  "Ten  or 
twenty  million?" 

"Thirty,  I  should  say.  Perhaps  more.  But  what 
has  it  to  do  with  Lennox?" 

Negligently  Jones  flicked  his  ashes.  "Well,  it 
changes  the  subject.  I  can't  talk  about  the  same  thing 
all  the  time.  It  is  too  fatiguing." 

As  he  spoke,  he  stood  up. 

Verelst  put  out  a  hand.  "Dunwoodie  is  sure  to  look 
in.  Where  are  you  off  to?" 

Jones  smiled  at  him.  "I  am  going  to  gaze  in  a 
window  where  there  are  pippins  on  view." 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  said  Verelst,  who  also  got  up. 

Fabulists  tell  strange  tales.  It  is  their  business  to 
tell  them.  Jones  had  no  intention  of  looking  at  pip 
pins.  What  he  had  in  mind  was  fruit  of  another 
variety.  It  was  some  distance  away.  Before  he  could 
make  an  appreciable  move  toward  it,  Verelst,  who  had 
turned  from  him,  turned  back. 

"There!" 

Beyond,  through  the  high-arched  entrance,  a  man 
was  limping.  He  had  the  battered  face  of  an  old  bull 
dog  and  the  rumpled  clothes  of  a  young  ruffian. 


242  THE    PALISER    CASE 

"There's  Dunwoodie!" 

Verelst,  a  hand  on  Jones'  elbow,  propelled  him  to 
ward  the  lawyer,  who  gratified  them  with  the  look, 
Very  baleful  and  equally  famous,  with  which  he  was 
said  to  reverse  the  Bench. 

But  Verelst,  afraid  of  nothing  except  damp  sheets, 
Btretched  a  hand.  "You  know  Ten  Eyck  Jones.  He 
has  something  very  important  to  tell  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Jones.  "In  March,  on  the  eighth  or 
ninth,  I  have  forgotten  which,  but  it  must  be  in  the 
'Law  Journal/  a  decision  was  rendered " 

He  got  no  farther.  Other  members,  crowding 
about,  were  questioning,  surmising,  eager  for  a  detail, 
a  prediction,  an  obiter  dictum,  for  anything  they  could 
take  away  and  repeat  concerning  the  murder,  in  which 
all  knew  that  the  great  man  was  to  appear. 

But  Dunwoodie  was  making  himself  heard,  and  not 
gently  either.  It  was  as  though  already  he  was  at 
the  district  attorney's  throat. 

"Where  is  the  evidence?  Where  is  it?  Where  is 
the  evidence?  There  is  not  a  shred,  not  a  scintilla. 
On  the  absence  of  facts  adduced,  I  shall  maintain  what 
I  assert  until  the  last  armed  Court  of  Appeals  ex 
pires.  Hum!  Ha !" 

Fiercely  he  turned  on  Jones.  "What  were  you  say 
ing,  sir?" 

Before  Jones  could  reply,  Verelst  cut  in.  "The 
stiletto  is  his.  He  has  the  opera-ticket.  He " 

"Imbeciles  tell  each  other  that  great  men  think 
alike,"  Jones,  interrupting,  remarked  at  Dunwoodie. 
"I  merely  happened  to  be  forestalling  your  views,  when 
a  recent  decision  occurred  to  me  and " 

Jones'  remarks  were  lost,  drowned  by  others,  by 
questions,  exclamations,  the  drivel  that  amazement 
creates. 


THE    PALISER   CASE  243 

"But,  I  say "  "Tell  me  this "  "No  evi 
dence!''  "The  stiletto  his!"  "How  did  Lennox  get 
it?"  "Then  what  about " 

Dunwoodie,  fastening  on  Jones,  roared  at  him. 
"You  tell  me  the  instrument  is  yours?" 

Jones  patted  his  chin.     "I  did  not,  but  I  will." 

"How  do  you  know,  sir?" 

"It  has  a  little  love  message  on  it." 

"Hum!  Ha!"  Dunwoodie  barked.  "Come  to  my 
office  to-morrow.  Come  before  ten." 

Dreamily  Jones  tilted  his  hat.  "I  am  not  up  before 
ten.  Where  do  you  live?  In  the  Roaring  Forties?" 

But,  in  the  mounting  clamour,  the  answer,  if  answer 
there  were,  was  submerged.  Jones  went  out  to  the 
street,  entered  a  taxi,  gave  an  address  and  sailed  away, 
up  and  across  the  Park,  along  the  Riverside  and  into 
the  longest  thoroughfare — caravan  routes  excepted — 
on  the  planet. 

On  a  corner  was  a  drug-shop,  where  anything  was 
to  be  had,  even  to  umbrellas  and,  from  a  sign  that 
hung  there,  apparently  a  notary  public  also.  Opposite 
was  a  saloon,  the  Ladies  Entrance  horribly  hospitable. 
Jones'  trained  eye — the  eye  of  a  novelist — gathered 
these  things  which  it  dropped  in  that  bag  which  the 
subconscious  is.  Meanwhile  the  car,  scattering  chil 
dren,  tooted,  turned  and  stopped  before  a  leprous 
door. 

In  the  hall,  a  girl  of  twelve,  with  the  face  of  a 
seraph,  and  the  voice  of  a  fiend,  was  shrieking  at  a 
switchboard.  Jones  fearing,  if  he  addressed  her,  that 
she  might  curse  him,  went  on  and  up,  higher,  still 
higher,  and  began  to  feel  quite  birdlike.  On  the 
successive  landings  were  doors  and  he  wondered  what 
tragedies,  what  comedies,  what  aims,  lofty,  mean  or 
merely  diabolic,  they  concealed.  They  were  all  labelled 


244  THE    PALISER    CASE 

with  names,  Hun  or  Hebrew,  usually  both.  But  one 
name  differed.  It  caressed. 

There  he  rang. 

When  it  opened,  a  strawberry  mouth  opened  also. 
"Oh !"  Cassy's  blue  eyes  were  red.  There  was  fright 
in  them.  "It  is  horrible!  Tell  me,  do  you  think  it 
was  he?" 

Jones  removed  his  hat.     "I  know  it  was  not.'* 

That  mouth  opened  again,  opened  for  breath, 
opened  with  relief.  Gasping,  she  stared.  "Thank 

God!  I  was  afraid But  are  you  sure?  It  was 

I  who  told  him — I  thought  it  my  fault.  It  was  killing 
me.  Tell  me.  Are  you  really  sure?" 

Jones  motioned.  "His  lawyer  is.  I  have  just 
seen  him." 

"He  is !  Thank  God  then !  Thank  God !  And  my 
father !  It  has  made  him  ill.  He  liked  him  so !  I 
am  going  for  medicine  now.  Will  you  go  in  and 
speak  to  him?" 

She  turned  and  called.  "It  is  Mr.  Jones — a  friend 
of  Mr.  Lennox."  She  turned  again.  "I  will  be  back 
in  a  minute." 

Beyond,  in  the  room  with  the  piano  and  the  painted 
warrior,  the  musician  lay  on  a  sofa,  bundled  in  a  rug. 
There  was  not  much  space  on  the  sofa,  yet,  as  Jones 
entered,  he  seemed  to  recede.  Then,  cavernously,  he 
spoke. 

"Forgive  me  for  not  rising.  This  business  has 
been  too  much  for  me.  Sit  down." 

Jones  put  his  hat  on  the  table  and  drew  a  chair.  "I 
am  sorry  it  has  upset  you.  It  amounts  to  nothing." 

Perplexedly  the  musician  repeated  it.     "Nothing?" 

"I  was  referring  to  our  friend  Lennox." 

"You  call  his  arrest  nothing?" 


THE    PALISER    CASE  245 

"Well,  everything  is  relative.  It  may  seem  unusual 
to  be  held  without  bail  and  yet,  if  we  all  were,  it  would 
be  commonplace." 

The  musician  plucked  at  the  rug.  "I  suppose  every 
body  thinks  he  did  it?" 

"Everybody,  no.  I  don't  think  so  and  I  am  sure 
your  daughter  doesn't." 

"I  wish  she  would  hurry." 

"Nor  do  you." 

"No,  I  don't  think  so." 

"I  doubt  if  the  police  do  either." 

"After  jailing  him!" 

Jones,  who  had  been  taking  in  the  room,  the  piano, 
the  portrait,  the  table,  sketched  a  gesture. 

"We  are  all  in  jail.  The  opinion  of  the  world  is  a 
prison,  our  own  ideas  are  another.  We  are  doubly 
jailed,  and  very  justly.  We  are  depraved  animals. 
We  think,  or  think  we  think,  and  what  we  think  others 
have  thought  for  us  and,  as  a  rule,  erroneously." 

From  a  phonograph  somewhere,  in  some  adjacent 
den,  there  floated  a  tenor  aria,  the  Bella  figlia  del 
amore,  pierced  suddenly  and  beautifully  by  a  contral 
to's  rich  voice. 

Jones  turned.  "That's  Caruso.  I  don't  know  who 
the  Maddelena  is.  Do  you  remember  Campanini?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  him.  He  was  a  better  actor  than 
Caruso." 

"And  so  ugly  that  he  was  good-looking.  Caruso  is 
becoming  uneven." 

Vaguely  the  musician  considered  the  novelist.  "You 
think  so?" 

"It  rather  looked  that  way  last  night." 

Angelo  Cara  plucked  again  at  the  rug. 
"But,"  Jones  continued,  "in  the  'Terra  addio'  he 
made  up  for  it.     What  an  enchantment  that  duo  is!" 


246  THE    PALISER    CASE 

The  musician's  hand  moved  from  the  rug  to  his 
face.  "You  were  there  then?" 

I  was  this  morning,  thought  Jones,  but  he  said: 
"How  sinful  Rigoletto  is  by  comparison  to  Aida — by 
comparison  I  mean  to  the  last  act/' 

The  other  duo  now  had  become  a  quartette.  The 
voices  of  Gilda  and  Rigoletto  were  fusing  with  those 
of  the  figlia  and  the  duke. 

The  musician  appeared  to  be  listening.  His  sunken 
eyes  were  lifted.  Slowly  he  turned  them  on  Jones. 

"You  didn't  see  anything,  did  you?" 

"Last  night?  I  did  not  see  Lennox,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean,  or  Paliser — except  for  a  moment,  during 
the  crypt  scene." 

Chokingly  the  musician  drew  breath.  In  the  effort 
he  gasped.  "Then  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

The  rug  rose  and  fell.  It  was  as  though  there  were 
a  wave  beneath  it. 

With  an  air  of  detachment,  Jones  added :  "Paliser 
turned  to  see  who  was  there.  A  sword-cane  told  him." 

The  musician's  lips  twitched,  his  face  had  con 
tracted,  his  hand  now  was  on  his  breast.  "I  wish 
Cassy  would  hurry.  She's  gone  for  amyl." 

"Is  it  far?" 

"The  corner.     Are  you  going  to  do  anything?" 

Jones  shook  his  head.     "I  don't  need  to." 

The  sunken  eyes  were  upon  him.  "Why  do  you 
say  that?" 

"You  are  an  honest  man." 

The  sunken  eyes  wavered.  "At  least  I  never  sup 
posed  they  would  arrest  Lennox.  How  could  I?" 

"No  one  could  have  supposed  it.  Besides,  in  your 
own  conscience  you  were  justified,  were  you  not?" 

"You  know  about  that,  too?" 


THE    PALISER   CASE  247 

"Yes,  I  know  about  that." 

The  Rigoletto  disc  now  had  been  replaced  by  an 
other,  one  from  which  a  voice  brayed,  a  voice  nasal, 
i  ocular,  felonious. 

"That  beast  ought  to  be  shot,"  Jones  added. 

The  musician  raised  himself  a  little.  "You  don't 
misjudge  her,  do  you?" 

Jones,  annoyed  at  the  swill  tossed  about,  had  turned 
from  him.  He  turned  back.  "Believe  me,  Mr.  Cara, 
there  is  no  one  for  whom  I  have  a  higher  respect." 

A  spasm  seized  the  musician.  For  a  moment,  save 
for  the  effort  at  breath,  he  was  silent.  Then  feebly  he 
said :  "I  wish  she  would  hurry." 

"Can  I  do  anything?" 

"Yes,  tell  me.     Do  you  condemn  me?" 

The  novelist  hesitated.  "There  are  no  human 
scales  for  any  soul.  Though,  to  be  sure " 

"What?" 

"It  might  have  been  avoided.  As  it  is,  they  will 
suspect  her." 

"Cassy?" 

"Naturally.  They  can't  hold  Lennox  on  a  paper- 
cutter — that  belongs  to  me,  and  a  few  empty  words 
said  in  my  presence  and  which,  if  necessary,  I  did 
not  hear.  They  can't  hold  him  on  that.  But  when 
they  learn,  as  they  will,  the  circumstances  of  your 
daughter's  misadventure,  they  will  arrest  her." 

"Merciful  God!" 

The  jeopardy  to  her,  a  jeopardy  previously  undis- 
cerned,  but  which  then  shaken  at  him,  instantly  took 
shape,  twisted  his  mouth  into  the  appalling  grimace 
that  mediaeval  art  gave  to  the  damned. 

"And  you  don't  want  that,"  Jones  remotely  re 
sumed. 

"Want  it!"     Galvanised  by  the  shock,  the  musician 


248  THE   PALISER   CASE 

sat  suddenly  up.  "Last  night,  after  I  got  back,  I 
slept  like  a  log.  This  morning,  I  felt  if  I  had  not 
done  it,  I  would  still  have  it  to  do  and  that  satisfied 
me.  But  afterwards,  when  I  learned  about  Lennox, 
it  threw  me  here.  Now My  God !" 

He  fell  back. 

The  poor  devil  is  done  for,  thought  Jones,  who, 
wondering  whether  he  could  get  it  over  in  time,  leaned 
forward. 

"Mr.  Cara,  don't  you  think  you  had  best  make  it 
plain  sailing  for  everybody,  and  let  me  draw  up  a 
declaration  ?" 

The  disc  now  had  run  out.  The  grunt  of  the  beast 
was  stilled.  From  beyond  came  the  quick  click  of  a 
key.  Almost  at  once  Cassy  appeared. 

She  hurried  to  her  father.  "There  were  people 
ahead  of  me.  They  took  forever.  Has  Mr.  Jones 
told  you?  Mr.  Lennox  did  not  do  it." 

Breaking  a  tube  in  a  handkerchief,  she  was  ad 
ministering  the  amyl  and  Jones  wondered  whether  she 
could  then  suspect.  But  her  face  was  turned  from 
him,  he  could  not  read  it,  and  realising  that,  in  any 
event,  she  must  be  spared  the  next  act,  he  cast  about 
for  an  excuse  to  get  her  away.  At  once,  remembering 
the  notary,  he  produced  him. 

"Your  father  wants  me  to  draw  a  paper  on  which 
his  signature  should  be  attested.  If  I  am  not  asking 
too  much,  would  you  mind  going  back  to  the  druggist 
for  the  notary  whose  sign  I  saw  there?" 

Cassy  turned  from  her  father.  "A  paper?  What 
paper?" 

Bravely  Jones  lied.     "A  will." 

Cassy  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "The  poor 
dear  often  has  these  attacks.  He  will  be  better  soon 
— now  that  he  knows.  Won't  you,  daddy?" 


THE   PALISER   CASE  249 

Angelo  Cara's  eyes  had  in  them  an  expression  in 
finitely  tender,  equally  vacant.  It  was  as  though,  in 
thinking  of  her,  he  was  thinking  too  of  something  else. 
Though,  as  Jones  afterward  decided,  he  probably  was 
not  thinking  at  all. 

Cassy  exclaimed  at  him.  "Besides,  what  have  you 
— except  me?" 

"Everybody  has  to  make  a  will,"  Jones,  lying  again, 
put  in.  "There  has  been  a  new  law  passed.  The 
eternal  revenue  collector  requires  it." 

Cassy  smoothed  the  rug,  put  the  handkerchief  on 
the  table,  opened  a  drawer,  got  out  some  paper,  a  pen, 
a  bottle  of  ink. 

In  a  moment  she  had  gone. 

Jones  seated  himself  at  the  table.  "Forgive  me 
for  asking,  but  may  I  assume  that  you  believe  in  God, 
a  life  hereafter  and  in  the  rewards  and  punishments 
which,  we  are  told,  await  us?" 

The  musician  closed  his  eyes. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jones,  who  began  to  write : 

I,  Angelo  Cara,  being  in  full  possession  of  my  senses 
and  conscious  of  the  immanence  of  death,  do  solemnly 
swear  to  the  truth  of  this  my  dying  declaration,  which, 
I  also  solemnly  swear,  is  made  by  me  without  any  col 
lusion  with  Keith  Lennox.  First;  I  firmly  believe  in 
God,  in  a  life  hereafter,  and  in  future  rewards  and  pun 
ishments.  Second;  I  alone  am  guilty  of  the  murder  of 
Montagu  Paliser,  jr.,  whom  I  killed  without  aid  or  ac 
complices  and  without  the  privity  or  knowledge  of  any 
other  person. 

Jones,  wishing  that  in  his  law-school  days  he  had 
crammed  less  and  studied  more,  looked  up. 

"I  cannot  compliment  you  on  your  pen,  Mr.  Cara. 
But  then,  pen  and  ink  always  seem  so  emphatic.  Per- 


250  THE    PALISER    CASE 

sonally,  I  prefer  a  pencil.  Writing  with  a  pencil  is 
like  talking  in  a  whisper." 

It  was  in  an  effort  to  deodorise  the  atmosphere, 
charged  with  the  ghastly,  that  he  said  it.  The  declar 
ant  did  not  appear  to  notice.  His  sunken  eyes  had 
been  closed.  Widely  they  opened. 

'The  other  side!" 

Jones  blotted  the  declaration.  "The  other  side  can 
not  be  very  different  from  this  side.  Not  that  part  of 
it  at  least  which  people,  such  as  you  and  I,  first  visit. 
A  bit  farther  on,  I  suppose  we  prepare  for  our  return 
here.  For  that  matter,  it  will  be  very  careless  of  us, 
if  we  don't.  We  relive  and  redie  and  redie  and  relive, 
endlessly,  ad  infinitum.  The  Church  does  not  put  it  in 
just  that  manner,  but  the  allegory  of  the  resurrection 
of  the  body  and  the  life  everlasting  amounts,  perhaps, 
to  the  same  thing.  'Never  the  spirit  was  born,  the 
spirit  shall  cease  to  be  never/  That  is  the  way  Edwin 
Arnold  expressed  it,  after  the  'Gita'  had  expressed  it 
for  him.  But  probably  you  have  not  frequented  the 
'Gita,'  Mr.  Cara.  It  is  an  exceedingly 

"Cassy's  lace  dress  is  all  torn.     It  was  so  pretty." 

He  is  in  the  astral  now,  thought  Jones,  who  said: 
"She  will  have  a  much  prettier  one." 

But  now  again  from  the  hall  came  that  quick  click 
and  Cassy  appeared,  a  little  fat  man  behind  her. 

Jones  stood  up.  "How  do  do.  You  know  Mr. 
Cara.  Mr.  Cara  wants  his  signature  attested." 

The  little  man  exhibited  his  gold  teeth.  "With  a 
will  that  is  not  the  way.  I  told  this  young  lady  so 
but  she  would  have  it  that  I  come  along." 

The  young  lady,  who  was  taking  her  hat  off,  left 
the  room. 

Jones  fished  in  a  pocket.     "It  is  very  good  of  you. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  251 

Here,  if  you  please,  is  your  fee.  The  document  is  not 
a  will,  it  is  a  release." 

As  the  novelist  spoke,  he  put  the  pen  in  the  musi 
cian's  hand  and,  finding  it  necessary,  or  thinking  that  it 
was,  for,  as  he  afterward  realised,  it  was  not,  he 
guided  it. 

"You  acknowledge  this "  the  notary  began.  But 

at  the  moment  Cassy  returned  and,  it  may  be,  dis 
tracted  by  her,  he  mumbled  the  rest,  took  the  reply 
for  granted,  applied  the  stamp,  exhibited  his  teeth. 
Then,  at  once,  the  hall  had  him. 

Cassy  turned  to  Jones.  Her  face  disclosed  as  many 
emotions  as  an  opal  has  colours.  Relief,  longing,  un 
certainty,  and  distress  were  there,  ringed  in  beauty. 

"Miss  Austen  ought  to  know  how  she  has  misjudged 
him.  Do  you  suppose  she  would  let  me  see  her?" 

Bully  for  you !  thought  Jones,  who  said :  "I  cannot 
imagine  any  one  refusing  you  anything/' 

In  speaking,  he  heard  something.  Cassy  turned. 
She  too  had  heard  it.  But  what? 

With  a  cry  she  ran  to  the  sofa.     "Daddy !" 

His  face  was  grey,  the  grey  that  dawn  has,  the  grey 
than  which  there  is  nothing  greyer  and  yet  in  which 
there  is  light.  That  light  was  there.  His  upper-lip 
was  just  a  little  raised.  It  was  as  though  he  had  seen 
something  that  pleased  him  and  of  which  he  was  about 
to  tell. 

"Daddy!" 

Jones  followed  her.  He  drew  down  the  rug  and 
bent  over.  After  a  moment,  he  drew  the  rug  up,  well 
up,  and,  with  a  forefinger,  saluted. 

Cassy,  tearing  the  covering  back,  flung  herself 
there.  Jones  could  not  see  her  tears.  He  heard  them. 
Her  slim  body  shook. 


XXXI 

ON  leaving  the  walk-up  Jones  discovered  a  restau 
rant  that  he  judged  convenient  and  vile.  But  the 
convenience  appealed,  and  the  villainy  of  the  place  did 
not  extend  to  the  telephone-book,  which  was  the  first 
thing  he  ordered. 

While  waiting  for  it,  it  occurred  to  him  that  in  a 
novel  the  death  he  had  witnessed  would  seem  very 
pat.  Why  is  life  so  artificial?  he  wonderingly  asked. 

The  query  suggested  another.  It  concerned  not  the 
decedent  but  his  daughter. 

By  the  Lord  Harry,  he  told  himself,  her  linen  shall 
not  be  washed  in  public  if  I  can  prevent  it,  and  what  is 
the  use  in  being  a  novelist  if  you  can't  invent? 

But  now  the  book  was  before  him.  In  it  he  found 
that  Dunwoodie  resided  near  Columbia  University. 
It  was  ages  since  he  had  ventured  in  that  neighbour 
hood,  which,  when  finally  he  got  there,  gave  him  the 
agreeable  sensation  of  being  in  a  city  other  than  New 
York. 

Hie  Labor,  Haec  Quies,  he  saw  written  on  the 
statue  of  a  tall  maiden,  and  though,  in  New  York, 
quiet  is  to  be  had  only  in  the  infrequent  cemeteries, 
deep  down,  yet  with  the  rest  of  the  inscription  he  had 
been  engaged  all  day. 

Gravely  saluting  the  maiden,  who  was  but  partly 
false,  he  passed  on  to  an  apartment-house  and  to 
Dunwoodie' s  door,  which  was  opened  by  Dunwoodie 

252 


THE    PALISER    CASE  253 

himself.  In  sliooers  and  a  tattered  gown,  he  was 
Hogarthian. 

"I  thought  it  a  messenger !"  he  bitterly  exclaimed. 

Jones  smiled  at  him.  "When  a  man  of  your  emi 
nence  is  not  wrong,  he  is  invariably  right.  I  am  a 
messenger." 

In  the  voice  of  an  ogre,  Dunwoodie  took  it  up. 
"What  is  the  message,  sir?" 

Jones  pointed  at  the  ceiling.  Involuntarily,  Dun 
woodie  looked  up  and  then  angrily  at  the  novelist. 

"An  order  of  release,"  the  latter  announced. 

Dunwoodie  glared.  "I  suppose,  sir,  I  must  let  you 
in,  but  allow  me  to  tell  you " 

Urbanely  Jones  gestured.  "Pray  do  not  ask  my 
permission,  it  is  a  privilege  to  listen  to  anything  you 
may  say." 

Dunwoodie  turned.  Through  a  winding  hall  he  led 
the  way  to  a  room  in  which  a  lane  went  from  the 
threshold  to  a  table.  The  lane  was  bordered  with  an 
underbush  of  newspapers,  pamphlets,  magazines.  Be 
hind  the  underbush  was  a  forest  of  books.  Beside  the 
table  were  an  armchair  and  a  stool.  From  above,  hung 
a  light.  Otherwise,  save  for  cobwebs,  the  room  was 
bare  and  very  relaxing. 

Dunwoodie  taking  the  chair,  indicated  the  stool. 
"Now,  sir!" 

Jones  gave  him  the  declaration. 

With  not  more  than  a  glance  Dunwoodie  possessed 
himself  of  the  contents.  He  put  it  down. 

"If  I  had  not  known  you  had  studied  law,  not  for  a 
moment  would  that  rigamarole  lead  me  to  suspect  it." 

In  a  protest  which  r,  •  .quite  futile,  Jones  raised  a 
hand.  "The  notary  is  unnecessary,  I  nnow  that.  I 


254  THE   PALISER   CASE 

know  also  that  a  dying  declaration  is  not  the  best 
evidence,  but " 

"Do  you  at  least  know  that  the  declarant  is  dead?" 

Jones,  who  favoured  the  dramatic,  nodded.  "He 
died  in  my  arms." 

Dunwoodie  took  it  in  and  took  it  out.  "It  is  curious 
how  crime  leads  to  bad  taste." 

Jones  leaned  forward.  "I  may  tell  you  for  your 
information " 

"Spare  me,  I  am  overburdened  with  information  as 
it  is." 

Jones  sat  back.  He  had  no  intention  of  taking 
Dunwoodie  then  behind  the  scenes.  That  would  come 
later.  But  he  did  want  to  try  out  an  invention  that 
had  occurred  to  him.  He  sighed. 

"Don't  you  care  to  hear  why  he  did  it?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"But " 

Dunwoodie  fumbled  in  a  pocket.  "The  district 
attorney  may  be  more  receptive.  I  shall  go  to  him 
in  the  morning  and  I  will  thank  you  to  go  with  me." 

"I  am  not  up  in  the  morning." 

"Then  don't  go  to  bed." 

From  the  pocket,  Dunwoodie  extracted  an  enormous 
handkerchief.  It  fascinated  Jones.  He  had  never 
seen  one  that  resembled  it. 

"You  dispose  of  me  admirably.  The  district  at 
torney,  I  suppose,  will  enter  a  nolle  prosequi." 

In  that  handkerchief,  Dunwoodie  snorted.  "You 
may  suppose  what  you  like." 

Jones  laughed.  "It  is  my  business  to  suppose.  I 
suppose,  when  the  murder  was  committed,  that  Len 
nox  was  at  home.  If  I  am  right,  he  has  an  alibi 
3vhich  his  servant  can  confirm." 


THE   PALISER   CASE  255 

Dunwoodie  stared.  "Whatever  your  business  may 
be,  it  is  not  to  teach  me  mine." 

Jones  drew  out  a  cigarette-case.  "Let  me  sit  at 
your  feet  then.  What  does  Lennox  say?" 

"How  inquisitive  you  are!     But  to  be  rid  of  you, 

V      J> 

"May  I  smoke?"  Jones  interrupted. 

"Good  God,  sir !  You  are  not  preparing  to  make  a 
night  of  it?" 

"I  have  one  or  two  other  little  matters  in  hand.  But 
since  I  may  suppose  all  I  like,  I  take  it  that  Lennox  in 
tended  to  go  to  the  opera,  though  I  fancy  also  that  he 
had  no  intention  of  going  to  Paliser's  box.  I  suppose 
that  he  intended  to  wait  about  and  go  for  him  hot  and 
heavy  when  he  came  out.  I  suppose  also  that,  while 
dressing,  he  changed  his  mind.  And,  by  the  way, 
isn't  there  such  a  writ  as  a  mandamus,  or  a  duces 
tecum?  I  would  like  my  paper-cutter  returned." 

"Confound  your  paper-cutter!  You  don't  deserve 
to  have  me  admit  it,  but  Lennox'  account  of  it  is  that 
before  going  on  to  the  opera,  he  stopped  to  write  a 
letter  to  Miss— er— Hum !  Ha !" 

"Miss  Austen?" 

"And  when  he  got  through  it  was  midnight." 

"I'll  lay  a  pippin  he  didn't  send  it." 

"What,  sir?" 

"Lennox  had  a  lot  to  say.  It  was  gagging  him. 
He  would  have  suffocated  if  he  had  kept  it  in.  The 
effect  of  getting  it  on  black  and  white  was  an  emetic. 
He  read  it  over,  judged  it  inadequate,  tore  it  up.  I 
have  done  the  same  thing.  I  daresay  you  have." 

The  great  man  sat  back.  "His  scrap-basket  has  been 
visited.  The  letter  was  there." 


256  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"Well,  then,  I  suppose  the  short  and  long  of  it  is,  you 
will  have  him  out  to-morrow." 

"As  I  said,  you  may  suppose  all  you  like." 

"Without  indiscretion  then,  may  I  suppose  that  you 
live  here  alone?" 

Dunwoodie  flourished  his  handkerchief.  It  Hvas 
cotton  and  big  as  a  towel. 

"I  am  not  as  young  as  you  are,  sir,  and  whether 
erroneously  or  not,  I  believe  myself  better  informed." 

"Ah!"  Jones  put  in.  "Your  physiognomy  cor 
roborates  you.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  it  were 
difficult  for  the  Seven  Sages  to  be  as  wise  as  you  look 
—which  is  the  reason,  perhaps,  why  I  do  not  quite 
follow  you." 

"I  did  not  imagine  that  you  would.  You  are  a  soci 
able  being.  Every  imbecile  is  pitiably  sociable.  But 
for  a  thinking  man,  a  man  without  vices  and  without 
virtues,  what  is  there  except  solitude?" 

Appreciatively  Jones  motioned.  "Thank  you  for 
descending  to  my  level.  As  it  happens,  I  also  have  a 
cloister  where  I  have  the  double  advantage  of  being 
by  myself  and  of  not  being  with  others.  But  now 
that  I  am  in  your  hermitage,  there  is  this  Matter  of 
Ziegler,  concerning  which  I  would  like  the  benefit  of 
your  professional  advice." 

"Hum!  Ha!  Got  yourself  mixed  up  with  a  wo 
man  and  want  me  to  pull  you  out.  Well,  sir,  you  will 
find  it  expensive.  But  a  hermitage  is  not  an  office.  I 
shall  expect  you  at  mine  to-morrow.  I  shall  expect 
you  before  ten." 

Dunwoodie  stood  up.  "To-morrow,  though,  your 
turpitudes  will  have  to  wait.  Have  you  been  served  ?" 

Jones  laughed.     "Not  yet." 

"Time  enough  then.     You  can  find  the  door?" 


THE    PALISER    CASE  257 

Through  the  lane,  bordered  by  rubbish,  and  on 
through  the  winding  hall,  Jones  went  out.  As  Dun- 
woodie  had  said,  there  was  time  enough.  There  had 
been  no  service — no  summons,  no  complaint.  It  might 
be  that  there  would  be  none.  The  matter  might  ad 
just  itself  without  any.  It  might  be  that  there  was 
no  ground  for  action.  Jones  could  not  tell.  After 
the  manner  of  those  who  have  crammed  for  a  law 
examination,  there  had  been  a  moment  when  he  knew, 
or  thought  he  knew,  it  all.  But  also  after  the  man 
ner  of  those  who  have  not  taken  the  post-graduate 
course  which  practice  is,  the  crammed  knowledge  had 
gone.  Only  remnants  and  misfits  remained.  It  was 
on  these  that  he  had  conjectured  the  suit  which,  mean 
while,  constituted  a  nut  to  crack.  There  was  time  and 
to  spare  though.  Besides,  for  the  moment,  he  had 
other  things  to  do. 

Then,  as  he  went  on  to  attend  to  them,  he  wondered 
why  Dunwoodie,  who,  he  thought,  must  make  a  hun 
dred  thousand  a  year,  lived  like  a  ragpicker. 

Before  him,  the  starshell,  which  imagination  pro 
jects,  burst  suddenly. 

He  said  he  had  no  virtues  and  probably  told  the 
truth,  Jones  decided.  In  which  case  he  cannot  be  a 
miser.  But  he  also  said  he  had  no  vices  and  probably 
lied  like  a  thief.  The  old  scoundrel  is  a  philanthropist. 
I  would  wager  an  orchard  of  pippins  on  that,  but 
there  is  no  one  to  take  me  up — except  this  policeman. 

"Officer,"  he  resumed  aloud.  "Behold  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  land.  By  any  miracle,  is  there  a  taxi- 
stand  nearby?" 

Then  presently  Jones  was  directing  a  driver. 

"The  Tombs!" 


XXXII 

T  N  a  dirty  cell  Lennox  sat  on  a  dirty  cot.  Through 
^  a  door,  dirty  too,  but  barred,  came  a  shuffle  of  feet, 
the  sound  of  the  caged  at  bay  and  that  odour,  perhaps 
unique,  which  prisons  share,  the  smell  of  dry-rot,  per 
spiration,  disinfectants  and  poisoned  teeth.  In  ad 
dition  to  the  odour  there  was  light,  not  much,  but  some. 
Nearby  was  a  sink.  Altogether  it  was  a  very  nice  cell, 
fit  for  the  Kaiser.  Lennox  took  no  pleasure  in  it. 
Rage  enveloped  him.  The  rage  was  caused  not  by 
the  cell  but  by  his  opinion  of  it.  That  was  only 
human. 

Events  in  themselves  are  empty.  It  is  we  who  fill 
them.  They  become  important  or  negligible,  according 
to  the  point  of  view.  We  give  them  the  colours, 
violent,  agreeable,  or  merely  neutral,  that  they  obtain. 
It  is  the  point  of  view  that  fills  and  affects  them.  The 
point  of  view  can  turn  three  walls  and  a  door  into  a 
madhouse.  It  can  convert  them  into  an  ivory  tower. 
To  Lennox  they  were  merely  revolting. 

That  morning  he  had  laughed.  His  arrest  amused 
him.  He  laughed  at  it,  laughed  at  the  police.  They 
took  no  offence.  Instead  they  took  the  cigars  that  he 
offered  and  a  few  accessories  which  they  grabbed.  It 
is  a  way  the  police  have.  Still  Lennox  laughed.  He 
knew  of  course  that  at  Headquarters  he  would  be  at 
once  released,  the  entire  incident  properly  regretted. 
When  he  found  himself  not  only  elaborately  wrong 

258 


THE   PALISER   CASE  259 

but  in  court,  laughter  ceased.  Anger  replaced  it.  He 
had  been  first  amused,  then  surprised,  afterwards  ex 
asperated,  emotions  that  finally  addled  into  rage,  not 
at  others  but  at  himself,  which  was  rather  decent.  In 
any  of  the  defeats  of  life,  the  simple  blame  others; 
the  wise  blame  themselves ;  the  evolved  blame  nobody. 
Lennox  had  not  reached  that  high  plane  then  but  in 
directing  his  anger  at  himself  he  showed  the  ad 
vantages  of  civilisation  which  the  war  has  put  in  such 
admirable  relief. 

Now,  on  that  cot,  in  that  cell,  ragingly  he  retraced 
his  steps.  He  saw  himself  loving  Margaret  Austen  as 
though  he  were  to  love  her  forever.  A  hero  can  do  no 
more.  He  saw  her  loving  him  with  a  love  so  light 
that  a  breath  had  blown  it  away.  A  nymph  in  the 
brake  could  do  no  worse.  Yet  whether  on  her  part  it 
were  perversity  or  mere  shallowness,  the  result  was  the 
same.  It  had  landed  him  in  jail.  For  that  he  ac 
quitted  her  completely.  What  he  could  not  forgive 
was  his  own  stupidity  in  persisting  in  loving  her  after 
she  had  turned  away. 

The  night  before,  while,  at  the  opera,  the  Terra 
Addio  was  being  sung,  he  had  been  writing  her  one 
of  the  endless  letters  that  only  those  vomiting  in  an 
attack  of  indignation  morbus  ever  produce.  In  the 
relief  of  getting  it  in  black  and  white,  the  nausea 
abated.  Then  judging  it  all  very  idle,  he  tore  the 
letter  in  two.  It  was  a  gesture  made  before  relapsing 
into  a  silence  which  he  had  intended  should  be  eternal. 
At  the  very  moment  when  Paliser  was  being  run 
through  the  gizzards,  he,  turning  a  page  of  life,  had 
scrawled  on  it  Hie  jacet. 

Now,  on  that  cot,  Paliser  recurring,  he  thought  of 
him  with  so  little  animosity  that  he  judged  his  spec- 


26o  THE    PALISER    CASE 

tacular  death  inadequate.  But  who,  he  wondered,  had 
staged  it?  Not  Cassy.  Cassy  took  things  with  too 
high  a  hand  and  reasonably  perhaps,  since  she  took 
them  from  where  her  temperament  had  placed  her. 
Then,  without  further  effort  at  the  riddle,  his  thoughts 
drifted  back  to  that  afternoon  when,  from  his  rooms, 
the  sunlight  had  followed  her  out  like  a  dog. 

He  had  been  looking  at  the  floor,  but  without  seeing 
it.  Then  at  once,  without  seeing  it  either,  he  saw 
something  else,  something  which  for  a  long  time  must 
have  been  there,  something  that  had  been  acting  on 
him  and  in  him  without  his  knowledge.  It  was  the 
key  to  another  prison,  the  key  to  the  prison  that  life 
often  is  and  which,  in  the  great  defeats,  every  man 
who  is  a  man  finds  at  his  feet  and  usually  without 
looking  for  it  either. 

"But  I  love  her !"  he  suddenly  exclaimed. 

There  is  a  magic  in  those  words.  No  sooner  were 
they  uttered  than  his  mind  became  a  rendezvous  of 
apparitions.  He  saw  Cassy  as  he  had  seen  her  first,  as 
he  had  seen  her  last,  as  he  had  seen  her  through  all  the 
changes  and  mutations  of  their  acquaintance,  saw  her 
eyes  lifted  to  his,  saw  her  face  turned  from  him. 

The  crystallisation  which,  operating  in  the  myriad 
cells  of  the  brain,  creates  our  tastes,  our  temptations, 
our  desires ;  creates  them  unknown  to  us,  creates  them 
even  against  our  will,  and  which  without  his  will  or 
knowledge,  had,  like  a  chemical  precipitate,  been  acting 
on  him,  then  was  complete. 

"I  love  her!"  he  repeated. 

The  dirty  cot,  the  dirty  cell,  the  dirty  floor,  a  point 
of  view  was  transforming.  At  the  moment  they 
ceased  to  be  revolting.  Then  immediately  another 
view  restored  their  charm. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  261 

"She  won't  have  me!" 

The  dirty  cell  reshaped  itself  and  he  thought  of  life, 
a  blind  fate  treacherous  always. 

"Good  Lord,  how  I  envy  you!" 

Lennox  turned.  Wriggling  through  the  bars  a  hand 
which  a  keeper  checked,  stood  Jones. 

"When  Cervantes  enjoyed  the  advantages  that  you 
possess,  the  walls  parted  and  through  them  cavalcaded 
the  strumpet  whose  name  is  Fame.  In  circumstances 
equally  inspiring  Bunyan  entertained  that  hussy.  Ver- 
laine  too.  From  a  dungeon  she  lifted  him  to  Par 
nassus,  lifted  him  to  the  top.  If  I  only  had  their  luck 
— and  yours !  It  is  too  good  for  you.  You  don't  ap 
preciate  it.  Besides  you  will  be  out  to-morrow." 

"I  ought  not  to  be  here  at  all,"  Lennox  indignantly 
retorted. 

"No,  you  are  most  undeserving.  Mais  ecoute. 
C'est  le  pere  de  la  petite  qui  a  fait  le  coup.  II  me  1'a 
avoue,  ensuite  il  a  claque  et  depuis  j'ai  vu  ton  avocat. 
C'est  une  brute  mais " 

"Can  that,"  put  in  the  keeper,  a  huge  creature  with  a 
cauliflower  face,  dingy  and  gnarled.  "You  guys  got 
to  cough  English." 

Ingratiatingly  Jones  turned  to  him.  "I  mistook  you 
for  a  distinguished  foreigner.  Dear  me,  my  life  is 
too  full  of  pleasure!"  , 

He  turned  to  Lennox.  "That's  it.  You  are  here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  Now  that  I  have  envied 
you  insufficiently  I'll  go  too.  While  I  am  about  it 
I'll  go  to  Park  Avenue.  Any  message?" 

"None." 

"Make  it  briefer.  Besides,  look  here.  I'll  wager  a 
wilderness  of  pippins  that  Park  Avenue  was  not  and 
never  thought  of  being  engaged  to  what's  his  name. 


262  THE    PALISER    CASE 

I'll  wager  because  it  is  not  in  the  picture.  Do  you  hear 
me?" 

"I  hear  you." 

"You  are  vary  gifted.  Nothing  wrong  with  your 
tongue,  though,  is  there?" 

"Nothing  whatever." 

"Behold  then  the  messenger  awaiting  the  message." 

"Very  good.  I'm  through.  Absolutely,  completely, 
entirely.  If  you  must  be  a  busybody  say  that.  I'm 
through." 

But  that  was  not  Jones'  idea  of  the  game  and  he  out 
with  it.  "I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Won't  you?"  Lennox  retorted.  He  had  remained 
seated.  But  rising  then,  he  looked  at  the  keeper,  mo 
tioned  at  Jones. 

"If  that  man  asks  for  me  again,  say  I'm  out." 

Jones  laughed.  "Wow- wow,  old  cock!  I  wish  I 
could  have  said  that  but  I  probably  shall.  Meanwhile 
book  this :  Dinner  to-morrow,  Athenaeum  at  eight. 
By-bye.  Remember  Cervantes.  Don't  forget  Ver- 
laine.  Sweet  dreams." 

Lennox  sat  down,  looked  at  the  key,  tried  to  turn 
it.  That  door  too  was  barred. 


XXXIII 

THE  offices  of  Dunwoodie,  Bramwell,  Straw- 
bridge  and  Cohen  were  supplied  with  a  rotunda 
in  which  Jones  sat  waiting,  and  Jones  loved  to  sit  and 
wait. 

Since  the  musician's  tenement  had  crumbled  and  the 
soul  of  the  violinist  had  gone  forth,  gone  to  the  unseen 
assessors  who  pityingly,  with  indulgent  hands,  weigh 
our  stupid  sins,  since  then  a  week  had  passed.  Dur 
ing  it,  a  paper  signed  by  the  dead  had  been  admitted 
by  the  living,  a  prisoner  had  been  discharged  and  for 
no  other  imaginable  reason  than  because  he  had  killed 
nobody,  Lennox  became  a  hero. 

New  York  is  very  forgetful.  Lennox  sank  back 
into  the  blank  anonymity  to  which  humanity  in  the  ag 
gregate  is  eternally  condemned  and  from  which,  at  a 
bound,  he  had  leaped.  The  papers  were  to  tell  of 
him  again,  but  casually,  without  scareheads,  among 
the  yesterdays  and  aviators  in  France.  That  though 
was  later. 

Meanwhile  an  enigma  remained.  Very  heroically  a 
young  man  had  done  nothing.  Hurrah  and  good-bye ! 
The  calciums  of  curiosity  turned  on  an  obscure  fiddler 
who,  after  murdering  another  young  man,  had  suc 
ceeded  in  bilking  the  chair. 

But  why  had  he  killed  him  ?  That  was  the  enigma, 
one  which  would  have  been  exciting,  if  the  solution 
had  not  been  so  prompt  and  so  tame.  At  the  proceed- 

263 


264  THE    PALISER    CASE 

ings  which  resulted  in  Lennox'  discharge,  it  was  testi 
fied  that  Angelo  Cara  had  been  temporarily  deranged. 

The  testimony,  expertly  advanced  by  a  novelist  who 
was  not  an  expert,  the  reporters  grabbed  before  the 
court  could  rule  it  out.  The  grabbing  was  natural. 
The  decedent's  declaration  had  been  made  to  Jones 
who,  though  not  an  alienist,  was  the  teller  of  tales  that 
have  been  translated  into  every  polite  language,  in 
cluding  the  Japanese,  which  is  the  politest  of  all. 
Moreover,  have  not  the  mendacious  been  properly  sub 
divided  into  liars,  damned  liars  and  expert  witnesses? 
To  Verdun  with  the  lot!  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  Jones  was 
certainly  not  an  expert,  but  certainly  too  he  was  some 
body,  he  was  a  best-seller  and  in  the  way  we  live  now, 
the  testimony  of  the  best-seller  is  entitled  to  every 
editorial  respect.  The  court  might  rule  his  testimony 
out,  city  editors  saluted  it. 

Jones'  little  invention  did  wash  therefore  and,  in 
the  washing,  poured  balm  by  the  bucket  over  the  father 
of  the  murdered  man. 

Then,  gradually,  like  everything  else,  except  war  and 
the  taxes,  both  murderer  and  murdered  were  dropped 
in  the  great  dustbin  of  oblivion  that  awaits  us  all. 

In  the  rotunda,  meanwhile,  Jones  sat  kicking  his 
heels.  It  was  in  the  morning,  and  always  in  the  morn 
ing  Jones  was  invisibly  at  work.  Now,  his  routine 
upset,  loathingly  he  kicked  his  heels.  But  Jones  had 
ways  of  consoling  himself  that  were  very  common 
place. 

I  am  doing  all  the  evil  I  can,  he  vindictively  re 
flected,  and  it  was  with  the  comfort  of  his  animosity 
about  him  that,  ultimately,  he  was  shown  into  an 
office — bright  and,  on  this  May  forenoon,  very  airy — 
that  gave  on  Broad  Street. 


THE    PALISER   CASE  265 

Dunwoodie,  twisting  in  a  chair,  glared  at  him. 

"Ecce  iterum  Crispinus!"  Jones  tritely  began. 
"What  price  retainers  to-day?" 

"I  hoped  to  God  I  had  seen  the  last  of  you/'  Dun 
woodie,  with  elaborate,  old-fashioned  courtesy,  re 
plied. 

Jones,  disdaining  to  be  asked,  drew  a  chair. 

Viciously  Dunwoodie  eyed  him.  "What  the  devil 
do  you  want?" 

Jones  smiled  at  him.     "That  decision." 

"What  decision,  sir?" 

"The  one  I  cited  when  I  brought  you  the  paper  that 
secured  Lennox'  discharge." 

"Damme,  sir,  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  would  have 
had  him  discharged  any  way." 

Jones'  smile  broadened.  "You  seem  capable  of  any 
thing.  It  is  a  great  quality.  Believe  me,  if  I  thought 
you  lacked  it,  you  would  not  now  be  enjoying  my 
society." 

"You  flatter  yourself  strangely,  sir.  If  you  have 
nothing  to  say,  don't  keep  on  saying  it." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  here  to  listen  to  you,"  Jones 
agreeably  put  in.  "I  want  your  views  on  that  case, 
The  Matter  of  Ziegler.' ' 

"Hum!  Ha!  Got  yourself  in  a  mess.  Yaas.  I 
remember.  Been  served  yet?  Give  me  the  facts." 

One  after  another,  Jones  produced  them. 

During  their  recital,  Dunwoodie  twirled  his  thumbs. 
At  their  conclusion,  he  expressed  himself  with  entire 
freedom.  After  which,  he  saw  Jones  to  the  door,  an 
act  which  he  performed  only  when  he  felt  particularly 
uncivil.  At  the  moment  the  old  bulldog's  lip  was 
lifted.  But  not  at  Jones. 

Broad  Street  was  very  bright  that  day.     Its  bril- 


266  THE   PALISER   CASE 

liance  did  not  extend  to  the  market.  Values  were 
departing.  The  slump  was  on.  Speculators,  invest 
ors,  the  long  and  the  shorts,  bank-messengers,  broker's- 
clerks,  jostled  Jones,  who  went  around  the  corner, 
where  a  cavern  gaped  and  swallowed  him. 

Crashingly  the  express  carried  him  uptown.  He 
did  not  know  but  that  he  might  have  lingered.  There 
is  always  room  at  the  top,  though  perhaps  it  is  unwise 
to  buy  there.  At  the  bottom,  there  is  room  too,  much 
more.  It  is  very  gloomy,  but  it  is  the  one  safe  place. 
Jones  did  not  think  that  the  market  had  got  there  yet. 
None  the  less  it  was  inviting.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
did  think  he  might  eat  something.  There  was  a  res 
taurant  that  he  wot  of  where,  the  week  before,  he  had 
had  a  horrible  bite.  The  restaurant  was  nauseating, 
but  convenient.  To  that  dual  attraction  he  succumbed. 

At  table  there,  he  meditated  on  the  inscrutable  pos 
sibilities  of  life  which,  he  decided,  is  full  of  changes, 
particularly  in  the  subway;  whereupon  a  tale  in  Per- 
rault's  best  manner  occurred  to  him. 

A  waiter,  loutish  and  yet  infinitely  dreary,  inter 
vened.  Jones  paid  and  went  out  on  the  upper  reaches 
of  Broadway.  The  fairy-tale  that  he  had  evoked  ac 
companied  him.  It  was  charm ful  as  only  a  fairy 
tale  can  be.  But  the  end,  while  happy,  was  hazy.  He 
did  not  at  all  know  whether  it  would  do. 

Abruptly  he  awoke. 

"Will  you  come  in  ?"  Cassy  was  saying. 

She  had  her  every-day  manner,  her  every-day 
clothes,  her  usual  hat.  Jones,  noting  these  details,  in 
wardly  commended  them.  But  at  once,  another  detail 
was  apparent.  The  entrance  to  the  room  where  the 
Bella  figlia  had  been  succeeded  by  a  dirge,  was  blocked. 
There  was  a  table  in  it, 


THE    PALISER    CASE  267 

Cassy  motioned.  "I  was  trying  to  get  it  out  when 
it  got  itself  wedged  there.  Will  you  crawl  under  it, 
as  I  have  to,  or  would  you  prefer  to  use  it  as  a  divan  ?" 

"Where  your  ladyship  crawleth,  I  will  crawl,"  Jones 
gravely  replied.  "I  just  love  going  on  all  fours." 

As  he  spoke  he  went  under.  With  a  sad  little  smile 
she  followed. 

"I  know  I  ought  to  be  in  mourning,"  she  told  him 
as  he  brushed  his  knees. 

She  hesitated  and  sat  down.  She  did  not  say  that 
she  lacked  the  money  to  buy  the  suits  and  trappings. 
She  did  not  want  to  say  that  she  had  sold  the  table, 
which  was  the  last  relic  of  her  early  home,  nor  yet 
that  she  had  been  trying  to  get  it  out,  in  order  to  pre 
vent  the  Jew  purchaser  from  again  coming  in.  In 
stead,  she  fingered  her  smock. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  an  engagement  and  they 
don't  want  you  in  black." 

Jones  took  a  chair.  "War  has  made  mourning 
an  anachronism  in  Europe.  If  it  lasts  long  enough, 
it  will  do  the  same  here  and  do  the  same  with  art. 
But  you  are  very  brave."  He  looked  about.  "I  un 
derstood  your  father  had  a  Cremona." 

"The  poor  dear  thought  so,  but  a  dealer  to  whom 
I  took  it  said  it  was  a  Tyrolean  copy." 

Jones  put  down  his  hat.  "The  brutes  always  say 
something  of  the  kind.  What  did  it  look  like?" 

Cassy  glanced  at  him.  "A  flute,  of  course.  What 
else  would  a  violin  look  like?" 

"You  are  quite  right.     I  meant  the  colour." 

"Oh,  the  colour!    Madeira  with  a  sheen  in  it." 

"Yes!"  Jones  exclaimed.  "That  is  the  exact  and 
precise  description  of  the  Amati  varnish,  of  which 


268  THE   PALISER   CASE 

the  secret  is  lost.  I  hope  you  did  not  let  the  brute 
have  it." 

Cassy  did  not  want  to  tell  him  that  either.  But 
when  you  are  very  forlorn  it  is  hard  to  keep  every 
thing  in. 

"I  needed  a  little  for  the  funeral  and  he  gave  it  to 
me." 

"And  it  was  worth  thousands !  Have  you  found  an 
engagement  ?" 

"The  season  is  ending.  Then  too,  either  I  have 
lost  confidence  or  I  am  not  up  to  it,  not  yet  at  least." 

"I  can  understand  that." 

Cassy  gestured.  "It  is  not  this  empty  room,  it  is 
the  doors  that  slam.  We  know  we  should  hasten  to 
love  those  whom  we  do  love,  lest  they  leave  us  forever 
before  we  have  loved  them  enough.  But  do  we  ?  We 
think  we  have  time  and  to  spare.  I  know  I  thought  so. 
I  was  careless,  forgetful,  selfish.  That  is  one  of  the 
doors.  I  can't  close  it." 

"Time  will." 

"Perhaps.  Meanwhile  I  am  told  I  should  change 
my  name.  At  first,  I  felt  very  bitterly  toward  you  for 
what  you  did  here.  It  seemed  inhuman  of  you.  Since 
then  I  have  realised  that  you  could  not  have  done 
otherwise.  It  saved  Mr.  Lennox.  I  would  have  done 
that." 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"But  I  won't  change  my  name.  I  won't  put  such  an 
affront  on  the  poor  dear  who  thought — yet  there!  I 
shall  never  know  what  he  thought,  but  who,  however 
wrongly,  did  it  because  of  me.  If  only  I  had  not  told 
him!  I  ought  never  to  have  said  a  word.  Never! 
That  door  slams  the  loudest.  It  wakes  me.  It  is 
slamming  all  the  time." 


THE   PALISER   CASE  269 

"That  too  shall  pass." 

Cassy  doubted  it.  The  door  and  the  noise  of  it 
hurt.  Her  eyes  filled.  Yet,  too  sensitive  to  weep  at 
anybody,  even  at  an  inkbeast,  she  stood  up,  went  to 
the  window  and,  while  reabsorbing  her  tears,  looked, 
or  affected  to  look,  at  a  lean  stripe  of  blue  sky. 

Meditatively  Jones  considered  her.  "Fine  day  for 
a  walk." 

It  was  as  though  he  had  offered  her  a  handkerchief. 
Tearful  no  longer,  but  annoyed,  she  turned  and  sat 
down. 

"You  seem  very  original." 

"It  is  absentmindedness,  I  think.  I  meant  to  ask, 
are  you  ever  down  near  the  Stock  Exchange?" 

"That  is  where  Mr.  Lennox  goes,  isn't  it?" 

"There  are  others  that  frequent  the  neighbourhood. 
Among  them  is  a  deacon  named  Dunwoodie." 

"Isn't  he  the  lawyer  who  acted  for  Mr.  Lennox?" 

"Now  you  mention  it,  I  believe  he  is.  Anyway,  I 
wonder  if  you  would  care  to  have  him  act  for  you?" 

Cassy  crossed  her  hands.    "I  don't  understand  you." 

"For  a  moment  or  two,  he  didn't  either.  Then  he 
said  he  would  like  to  see  you.  That  was  an  hour 
ago.  I  have  just  come  from  his  office." 

"But  what  in  the  world  does  he  want  of  me? 
Everything  is  over  now,  isn't  it?  Or  are  there  more 
doors?  Really,  if  there  are,  I  don't  think  I  can  stand 
it.  I  don't  think  I  can,  Mr.  Jones." 

"Yes,  but  there  are  doors  that  don't  slam,  doors  that 
are  closed  and  locked  and  barred.  Sometimes  there  is 
romance  behind  them,  sometimes  there  are  santal- 
wood  boxes  crammed  with  rubies ;  sometimes  there  are 
secrets,  sometimes  there  are  landscapes  of  beckoning 
palms.  One  never  quite  knows  what  there  is  behind 


270  THE    PALISER   CASE 

closed  doors.  He  may  open  one  or  two  for  you. 
Wouldn't  it  interest  you  to  let  him  try?" 

Cassy's  eyelids  had  been  a  trifle  tremulous,  in  her 
under-lip  there  had  been  also  a  little  uncertainty.  But 
at  the  vistas  which  the  novelist  dangled  at  her,  she 
succeeded  in  looking,  as  she  could  look,  immeasurably 
remote. 

"That  sort  of  thing  is  chorus-girl !" 

Blankly  Jones  stared.     "What  sort  of  thing?" 

"Why,  you  want  me  to  bring  an  action.  I  will  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  Even  if  he  were  living,  I  would 
rather  be  dead.  Besides,  it  was  all  my  fault.  I  ought 
to  have  known  better." 

"Better  than  what?"  enquired  the  novelist,  who  now 
had  got  his  bearings. 

"Mr.  Jones,  I  told  you  all  about  it." 

"Forgive  me,  if  I  seem  to  contradict  you.  You  did 
not  tell  all." 

Cassy  stiffened. 

"How  could  you?"  Jones  continued.  "Details  are 
so  tiresome.  To-day  when  I  was  talking  to  Dun- 
woodie,  I  advanced  a  few.  Dunwoodie  is  a  very 
ordinary  person.  Details  bore  you,  they  bore  me.  He 
dotes  on  them.  By  the  way,  you  said  something  about 
changing  your  name.  I  wish  you  would.  Couldn't 
you  take  mine?" 

"You  are  ridiculous." 

"As  you  like.  Any  one  else  would  call  me  merce 
nary." 

He's  crazy,  Cassy  uncomfortably  reflected.  What 
shall  I  do? 

Modestly  the  novelist  motioned.  "Ten  Eyck  Jones 
now!  It  doesn't  rhyme  with  Victor  Hugo  or  even 


THE   PALISER   CASE  271 

with  Andrew  Carnegie,  but  it  has  a  lilt.     It  might  be 


worse." 


"What  are  you  talking  about?"  Cassy,  with  increas 
ing  discomfort,  put  in. 

' There  is  a  little  thing  that  turns  men  into  flint  and 
women  into  putty.  That's  what  I  am  talking  about. 
I  am  talking  money." 

"Thank  you.     The  subject  does  not  interest  me." 

"Ah,  but  you  are  evolved !  Would  that  the  butcher 
were!  We  all  have  to  consider  his  incapacities  and 
money  helps  us.  I  have  an  idea  that  your  dear  de 
parted  may  have  left  you  a  trifle." 

"Really,  Mr.  Jones,  you  are  talking  nonsense." 

"It  is  a  specialty  of  mine." 

"Besides,  it  is  impossible." 

"Impossible  is  a  word  that  intelligent  young  women 
never  employ." 

"Very  good.  Admitting  the  possibility,  I  won't  take 
it." 

"It  might  be  paid  into  your  bank." 

"I  haven't  any  bank." 

"One  could  be  found  for  you." 

"I  would  tell  them  not  to  accept  it." 

"The  bank  that  won't  accept  money  does  not  exist." 

Cassy  flushed.  "I  rather  liked  you.  Couldn't  you 
be  less  hateful?" 

"You  are  trying  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  me." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Then  will  you  let  me  take  you  to  Dunwoodie?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Then  will  you  go  alone?" 

"But  why?  Why  should  I?  What  does  this  man 
with  an  absurd  name  want  of  me?" 

Jones  pulled  at  a  cuff.     "Well,  look  at  it  from  this 


272  THE   PALISER   CASE 

angle.  Before  you  discovered  that  your  marriage 
was  a  sham,  you  were  prepared  to  assume  a  few  obliga 
tions  and  some  of  them  may  still  subsist.  The  man 
with  the  absurd  name  can  tell  you  what  they  are. 
Surely  you  are  not  a  slacker.  This  is  war-time." 

With  that  abandonment  which  is  so  gracious  in  a 
woman,  Cassy  half  raised  a  hand.  "My  front  line  is 
wavering." 

Jones  reached  for  his  hat.     "Over  the  top  then!" 

Under  the  table  they  crawled. 


XXXIV 

YOUR  very  obedient  servant,  madam." 
With  that  and  a  fine  bow,  Dunwoodie  greeted 
Cassy  when  Jones  had  succeeded  in  getting  her  into 
the  inner  and  airy  office.     The  old  ruffian  drew  a 
chair. 

"Do  me  the  honour." 

Cassy  sat  down.  What  a  funny  old  man,  she 
thought. 

Jones  addressing  the  door,  remarked  dreamily: 
"Pendente  lite,  I  will  renew  my  acquaintance  with 
Swinburne's  'Espousals/  ' 

Dunwoodie  glared.  "You  will  find  it  in  the  library." 
Then  he  sat  down,  folded  his  hands  on  his  waistcoat 
and  smiled  at  Cassy.  "Nice  day." 

"Very." 

"Down  here  of  ten?" 

Cassy  shook  her  docked  hair.  "No,  and  I  don't 
at  all  know  why  I  am  here  now.  I  do  know  though, 
and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once,  I  have  no  intention 
of  making  a  fuss." 

Dunwoodie's  smile,  a  smile  quasi-ogrish,  semi- 
paternal,  expanded.  "If  our  Potsdam  friend  only 
resembled  you!" 

For  a  young  woman  so  recently  and  doubly  be 
reaved,  Cassy's  blue  smock  and  yellow  skirt  seemed  to 
him  properly  subdued.  Moreover,  from  a  word  that 

273 


274  THE    PALISER   CASE 

Jones  had  dropped,  he  realised  that  wealth  had  not 
presided  at  their  selection. 

He  twirled  his  thumbs.  "But  let  me  ask,  what  may 
your  full  name  be?" 

"Bianca  Cara." 

"Hum !  Ha !  Most  becoming.  And  how  young 
are  you?" 

Well,  I  like  that !  thought  Cassy,  who  answered : 
"Twenty-one." 

Dunwoodie  crossed  his  legs.  "You  think  me  an 
impertinent  old  man.  I  don't  mean  to  be  impertinent. 
I  take  a  great  interest  in  you." 

"Very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure." 

"Not  at  all.     Is  your  grandmother  living?" 

"For  heaven's  sake!  You  did  not  know  her,  did 
you?" 

"No,  but  I  stand  ready  to  take  her  place." 

"You  would  find  it  difficult.  She  is  buried  in 
Portugal." 

"The  place  of  your  grandfather  then,  the  place  of 
any  one  whom  you  can  trust." 

"But  why?" 

"Well,  let  me  ask.     What  are  your  plans?" 

"My  plans?  Mr.  Jones  asked  me  that.  I  have  a 
sort  of  a  voice  and  I  am  looking  for  an  engagement. 
But  the  season  is  ending.  Then  too  I  am  told  I  ought 
to  change  my  name.  I  won't  do  it." 

"Hum!     Ha!     But  it  appears  that  you  have." 

He's  crazy  too,  thought  Cassy,  who  said :  "I  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

Dunwoodie  extracted  his  towel  "Why,  my  dear 
young  lady,  you  are  Mrs.  Paliser." 

Cassy  flushed.  "I  am  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  don't 
know  how  you  got  such  an  idea." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  275 

Dunwoodie,  quite  as  though  he  were  doing  some 
hard  thinking,  folded  and  refolded  that  towel  which 
was  his  handkerchief.  "Yet  you  married  Montagu 
Paliser,  jr.,  did  you  not?" 

"Not  at  all.  That  is  I  thought  I  did,  but  the  man 
who  performed  the  ceremony  was  a  gardener." 

"Dear  me !     Is  it  possible !     And  where  was  this  ?" 

What  is  it  to  you?  thought  Cassy.  "At  Paliser 
Place,  if  you  must  know." 

"And  when  did  it  occur?" 

"Really,  Mr.  Dunwoodie,  I  can't  see  why  you  are 
putting  me  through  this  examination,  but  if  it  is  of 
any  benefit  to  you,  it  happened  just  five  days  before 
he  died." 

"Anybody  about?" 

"Oh,  yes.  There  were  two  other  servants  who  en 
joyed  it  very  much.  I  heard  them  laughing  and  I 
don't  blame  them.  It  was  a  rare  treat.  A  child  would 
have  laughed  at  it.  All  my  fault  too.  I  behaved  like 
a  ninny.  But  my  great  mistake  was  in  telling  my 
father.  I  would  give  the  world  if  I  had  not.  Won't 
you  please  send  for  Mr.  Jones?  As  I  told  you,  I 
don't  know  why  I  am  here." 

Dunwoodie  shook  out  the  towel.  "You  must  blame 
him  then.  He  said  you  were  Paliser's  widow." 

"Well,  you  see  I  am  not." 

"Yet  you  consented  to  be  his  wife." 

"Whose?     Mr.  Jones'?" 

"Paliser's,  my  dear  young  lady.  However  fictitious 
the  ceremony,  you  consented  to  be  Paliser's  wife." 

"What  if  I  did  ?     It  has  nothing  to  do  with  it  now." 

"Just  a  little,  perhaps.  Did  you  hear  Jones  say 
that  he  would  renew  his  acquaintance  with  Swin 
burne?" 


276  THE    PALISER    CASE 

"From  the  way  he  talks,  one  might  thin]*  he  knew 
him  by  heart.'* 

"Yaas,  he  is  very  objectionable.  But  you  are  refer 
ring  to  the  poet.  He  was  referring  to  the  jurist. 
The  jurist  wrote  a  very  fine  book.  Let  me  quote  a 
passage  from  it.  'It  is  the  present  and  perfect  consent 
the  which  alone  maketh  matrimony,  without  either  sol 
emnisation  or' — here,  Dunwoodie,  skipping  the  frank 
old  English,  substituted — 'or  anything  else,  for  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  is  the  essence  of  matrimony,  but 
consent  only.  Consensus  non  concubitus  facit  matri- 
moniam.'  Hum!  Ha!  In  other  words,  whether 
marriage  is  or  is  not  contracted  in  facie  ecclesise,  it  is 
consent  alone  that  constitutes  its  validity.  You  under 
stand  Latin?" 

Cassy  laughed.     "I  dream  in  it." 

Dunwoodie  laughed  too.  "Pleasant  dreams  to  you 
always.  But  what  I  have  quoted  was  the  common 
law,  and  so  remained  until  altered  by  the  Revised  Stat 
utes,  with  which  no  doubt  you  are  equally  familiar." 

Cassy  smoothed  her  frock.  "I  was  brought  up  on 
them." 

"I  don't  need  to  tell  you  then  that  when  adopted 
here  they  provided  that  marriage  should  be  a  civil 
contract.  In  so  providing,  they  merely  reaffirmed  the 
existing  common  law.  Subsequently,  the  law  was 
changed.  The  legislature  enacted  that  a  marriage 
must  be  solemnised  by  certain  persons — ecclesiastic, 
judicial  or  municipal — or  else,  that  it  should  be  entered 
into  by  written  contract,  which  contract  was  to  be 
filed  in  the  office  of  the  town  clerk.  Coincidentally  the 
legislature  prohibited  any  marriage  contracted  other 
wise  than  in  the  manner  then  prescribed." 

That  morning  Cassy  had  been  to  an  agent,  a  sapona- 


THE   PALISER   CASE  277 

cious  peran  with  a  fabulous  nose.  At  the  moment 
the  nose  was  before  her.  She  was  wondering  whether 
it  would  scent  out  for  her  an  engagement. 

"However,"  Dunwoodie,  twisting  the  edge  of  his 
towel,  continued,  "various  amendments  were  afterward 
adopted  and  certain  sections  repealed.  Among  the 
latter  was  the  one  containing  the  prohibition  which  I 
have  cited.  In  my  opinion,  it  was  not  the  intention  of 
the  legislature  to  repeal  it.  Yet,  however  that  may  be, 
repealed  it  was.  Since  then,  or,  more  exactly,  a  few 
weeks  ago,  the  enactments  regarding  the  manner  in 
which  marriage  must  be  solemnised  were  held  to  be 
not  mandatory  but  directory,  the  result  being  that  the 
law  originally  prevailing  has  now  come  again  into 
operation,  common-law  marriages  are  as  valid  as  be 
fore  and " 

Here  Dunwoodie  flaunted  the  towel. 

"And  you  are  Mrs.  Paliser." 

Of  the  entire  exposition,  Cassy  heard  but  that.  It 
ousted  the  agent  and  his  fabulous  nose.  She  bristled. 

"I  can't  be.  I  don't  want  to  be.  You  don't  seem 
to  see  that  the  clergyman  was  not  a  clergyman  at  all. 
He  was  one  of  the  help  there.  I  thought  I  told  you. 
Why,  there  was  not  even  a  license!  That  man  said 
he  had  one.  It  was  only  another  of  the  whimsicalities 
that  took  me  in." 

Dunwoodie  repocketing  the  towel,  showed  his  yellow 
teeth.  "A  young  gentlewoman  who  dreams  in  Latin, 
and  who  was  brought  up  on  the  Revised  Statutes,  must 
be  familiar  with  Byron.  'Men  were  deceivers  ever.' 
Not  long  ago,  a  Lovelace  whose  history  is  given  in  the 
New  York  Reports  conducted  himself  in  a  manner 
that  would  be  precisely  analogous  to  that  of  your  late 
husband,  were  it  not  that,  instead  of  dying,  he  did  what 


278  THE    PALISER   CASE 

was  less  judicious,  he  married  again — and  was  sent 
up  for  bigamy.  He  too  had  omitted  to  secure  a 
license.  He  also  entertained  a  lady  with  a  fancy-ball. 
None  the  less,  the  Supreme  Court  decided  that  he  had 
legally  tied  the  matrimonial  noose  about  him  and  that 
decision  the  Court  of  Appeals  affirmed." 

Cassy  shook  her  pretty  self.  "Well,  even  so,  I 
don't  see  what  difference  it  makes,  now  at  any  rate. 
He  is  dead  and  that  is  the  end  of  it." 

"Hum !  Not  entirely.  As  widow  you  are  entitled 
to  a  share  in  such  property  as  your  late  husband  pos 
sessed.  How  much,  or  how  little,  he  did  possess  I 
cannot  say.  But  I  assume  that  such  share  of  it  as  may 
accrue,  will  be — ha ! — adequate  for  you." 

"But  he  hadn't  anything.     He  told  me  so." 

"He  didn't  always  tell  you  the  truth  though,  did 
he  ?  In  any  event  it  is  probable  that  he  left  enough  to 
provide  for  your  maintenance." 

Cassy  threw  up  her  hands.     "Never  in  the  world." 

Dunwoodie  again  ran  his  eyes  over  the  severity  of 
her  costume.  "You  think  it  would  be  inadequate?" 

But  Cassy  was  angry.  "I  don't  think  anything 
about  it.  Whether  it  would  or  would  not  be  adequate, 
does  not  make  the  slightest  difference.  I  won't  take  it." 

"Ha!     And  why  not?" 

Cassy  fumed.  "Why  not?  But  isn't  it  evident? 
That  man  had  no  intention  of  marrying  me,  no  inten 
tion  whatever  of  leaving  me  a  cent." 

"As  it  happens,  he  did  both." 

Cassy  clenched  her  small  fist.  "No  matter.  He 
did  not  intend  to  and  don't  you  see  if  I  were  to  ac 
cept  a  ha'penny  of  his  wretched  money,  I  would  be 
benefiting  by  a  crime  for  which  may  God  forgive  my 
poor,  dear  father." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  279 

There  was  a  point  which  the  legislature  had  not 
considered,  which  not  one  of  all  the  New  York  Re 
ports  construed,  a  point  not  of  law  but  of  conscience, 
a  point  for  a  tribunal  other  than  that  which  sits  in 
banco.  It  floored  Dunwoodie. 

Damnation,  she's  splendid,  he  decided  as,  mentally, 
he  picked  himself  up.  But  it  would  never  do  to  say 
so  and  he  turned  on  her  his  famous  look. 

"Madam,  once  your  marriage  is  established,  the 
money  becomes  rightfully  and  legally  yours,  un 
less " 

With  that  look  he  was  frowning  at  this  handsome 
girl  who  took  law  and  order  with  such  a  high  hand. 
But  behind  the  frown  was  a  desire,  which  he  re 
strained,  to  hug  her. 

Frowning  still  he  looked  from  Cassy  to  the  door 
and  there  at  a  boy,  who  was  poking  through  it  a  nose 
on  which  freckles  were  strewn  thick  as  bran. 

"Mr.  Rymple,  sir,  says  he  has  an  appointment." 

The  old  ruffian,  rising,  turned  to  Cassy.  "One  mo 
ment,  if  you  please." 

The  door,  caught  in  a  draught,  slammed  after  him, 
though  less  violently  than  other  doors  that  were  slam 
ming  still.  Would  they  never  stop?  Cassy  wondered. 
Would  they  slam  forever?  Were  there  no  rooms  in 
life  where  she  might  enter  and  find  the  silence  that  is 
peace?  Surely,  some  time,  somewhere  that  silence 
might  be  hers. 

She  turned.  Jones,  looking  extremely  disagreeable, 
was  walking  in. 

Cassy,  closing  her  ears  to  those  doors,  exclaimed  at 
him.  "Here's  a  pretty  how  d'ye  do.  Mr.  Dunwoodie 
says  I  am  Mrs.  Paliser." 


280  THE    PALISER    CASE 

"That  afternoon,  when  you  sent  your  love  to  my 
cat,  I  could  have  told  you  that.  In  fact  I  did." 

From  Jones'  air  and  manner  you  would  have  said 
that  he  was  willing  and  able  to  bite  a  ten-penny  nail. 

Cassy  did  not  notice.  "It  appears,  too,  that  I  am 
entitled  to  some  of  his  wretched  money." 

"It  is  unfortunate  I  did  not  know  that  also." 

"I  believe  you  did.     But  I  sha'n't  take  it." 

Jones  drew  a  chair.  Hatefully  he  looked  her  up 
and  down. 

"You  are  quite  right.  Sixty  years  ago  there  was 
but  one  millionaire  in  the  country.  The  plutocrat  had 
not  appeared  in  the  street,  he  had  not  even  appeared 
in  the  dictionary.  The  breed  was  unknown.  To-day 
there  are  herds  of  such  creatures.  I  was  reading  the 
statistics  recently  and  they  depressed  me  beyond 
words.  It  is  always  depressing  to  know  how  much 
money  other  people  have.  You  are  quite  right  not  to 
suffer  poor  devils  to  be  depressed  by  you." 

Mrs.  Yallum!  thought  Cassy,  who  said  as  much; 
"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

"You  are  very  intelligent.  I  am  talking  small 
change." 

Cassy  gave  a  shrug.  "Mr.  Dunwoodie  said  I  would 
have  enough  to  live  on.  I  can  do  as  well  as  that  my 
self,  thank  you." 

"No  doubt,"  Jones  snarled.  "I  am  even  sure  you 
could  do  worse.  It  is  extraordinary  how  much  one 
can  accomplish  in  refusing  a  dollar  or  two  that  might 
save  another  man's  life.  To  hell  with  everybody! 
That  is  the  noble  attitude.  I  admire  your  spirit.  A 
handful  of  bank-notes  are  crying  at  you:  'I'm  yours, 
take  me,  give  me  to  the  wounded,  to  the  starving!' 


THE    PALISER   CASE  281 

Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  Viscountess  of  Casa-Evora  is 
too  proud.  That's  superb/' 

Cassy  turned  on  him.    "See  here,  young  man " 

"Don't  you  young  man  me,"  Jones  irritably  cut 
in.  "In  the  rotunda  out  there,  Dunwoodie  gave  me 
a  foretaste  of  your  swank  and  I  can  tell  you  I  relished 
it.  You  won't  look  at  a  penny  of  this  money  because, 
if  you  did,  you  would  be  benefiting  by  an  act  com 
mitted  by  your  father,  who,  as  sure  as  you  live,  was 
impelled  by  the  powers  invisible  to  rid  the  earth  of 
Paliser  and  to  rid  it  of  him  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  this  money  might  serve  a  world  in  flames.  Re 
fused  by  you  it  will  only  revert  to  an  old  rounder 
who  never  did  a  good  deed  in  his  life;  whereas,  in 
stead,  it  could  call  down  blessings  on  your  father's 
grave.  But  no,  perish  the  thought !  All  that  is  leather 
and  prunella  to  a  young  woman  who  regards  herself 
as  the  arbiter  of  destiny.  By  God,  you  are  prodigious !" 

"I  think  you  are  horrid." 

"So  are  you.  You  are  the  heiress  to  millions  and 
millions.  No  wonder  you  put  on  airs." 

Occasionally,  to  exceptional  beings,  a  hand  issuing 
from  nowhere  offers  a  cup  brimming  with  madness, 
filled  to  the  top  with  follies  and  dreams. 

At  that  cup  Cassy  stared.  It  was  unreal.  If  she 
tried  to  touch  it,  it  would  vanish. 

"It  is  impossible!"  she  cried. 

Jones  looked  about.     "Where  is  my  harp?" 

Cassy  did  not  know,  she  could  not  tell  him.  She 
had  not  even  heard.  A  crater  in  the  Wall  Street  sky 
had  opened  and  from  it,  in  an  enchanted  shower,  fell 
sequins,  opals,  perfumes  and  stars. 

But  Jones  must  have  found  his  harp.  To  that 
shower  he  was  strumming  an  accompaniment. 


282  THE   PALISER   CASE 

"In  to-day's  paper  there  is  a  Red  Cross  appeal 
which  says  that  what  we  give  is  gone.  It  is  incredible, 
but  educated  people  believe  it.  The  ignorance  of  ed 
ucated  people  is  affecting.  By  reason  of  their  educa 
tion,  which  now  and  then  includes  mythology,  they 
believe  that  happiness  is  the  greatest  of  all  the  gifts 
that  the  gods  can  bestow.  Being  mortal,  they  try  to 
obtain  it.  Being  ignorant,  they  fail.  Ignorance  con 
founds  pleasure  with  happiness.  Pleasure  comes 
from  without,  happiness  from  within.  People  may  be 
very  gay  and  profoundly  miserable,  really  rich  and 
terribly  poor.  In  either  case  their  condition  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  happiness  which  they  sought,  they 
sought  for  themselves.  Their  error  would  be  stupid 
were  it  not  pathetic.  In  seeking  happiness  for  them 
selves  they  fail  to  find  it,  but  when  they  succeed  in 
securing  it  for  others,  they  find  that  on  them  also  it 
has  been  bestowed.  The  money  we  give  is  not  gone. 
It  comes  back  to  us.  It  returns  in  happiness  and  all 
the  happiness  that  the  richest,  the  poorest,  the  wisest, 
the  stupidest  can  ever  possess,  is  precisely  that  hap 
piness  which  they  have  given  away." 

Where  now  where  those  doors  ?  Cassy,  the  cascade 
of  flowers  and  stars  about  her,  looked  at  the  harper. 
In  listening  to  him,  the  doors  had  ceased  to  slam. 
About  them  there  was  peace.  But  her  eyes  had  filled. 

Jones  was  still  at  it. 

"The  greatest  happiness  is  the  cessation  of  pain. 
That  pagan  aphorism  the  Red  Cross  might  put  on  its 
banners.  Spiritually  it  is  defective,  but  practically  it 
is  sound  and  some  relief  the  Red  Cross  supplies.  Give 
to  it.  You  can  put  your  money  to  no  fairer  use.  It 
will  hallow  the  grave  where  your  father  lies." 


THE    PALISER   CASE  283 

From  beyond,  from  the  adjacent  Curb,  came  the 
shouts  of  brokers. 

Jones,  abandoning  his  harp,  looked  over  at  the  girl. 
"What  are  you  crying  about?" 

"I  am  not  crying/'  spluttered  Cassy,  who  was  blub 
bering  like  a  baby.  "I  never  cry.  It  is  disgusting  of 
you  to  say  so." 

"You  are  crying." 

"I  am  not  crying,"  Cassy,  indignantly  sniffing  and 
sobbing,  snapped  at  him.  Fiercely  she  rubbed  her 
eyes.  "It  is  none  of  your  business,  anyhow."  Paus 
ing,  she  choked,  recovered  and  blearily  added :  "And, 
anyway,  if  the  money  is  mine,  really  mine,  honestly 
mine,  I  will  give  it  away,  all  of  it,  every  p — penny." 

"No,  no,  not  all  of  it,"  Jones  hastily  threw  in,  for 
now  the  door  was  opening  and  Dunwoodie  appeared. 
"Keep  a  pear  for  your  thirst,  put  a  little  million  aside." 

He  turned  to  the  lawyer.  "Mrs.  Paliser  accepts  her 
responsibilities." 

"Hum !  Ha !"  The  great  man  sat  down  and  looked 
at  Cassy.  He  looked  many  things  but  he  said  very 
few.  "My  dear  young  lady,  familiar  as  you  are  with 
Latin,  with  law  and  with  literature,  who  am  I  to  re 
mind  you  that  chickens  should  first  be  hatched?  Your 
rights  may  be  contested.  The  Paliser  Case,  as  it  will 
be  called,  may " 

"The  Paliser  Case!"  interjected  Jones,  who  could 
see  the  headline  from  where  he  sat.  "Shade  of  Black- 
stone!  It  will  be  famous!  It  will  be  filmed!  The 
eminent  jurist  here  will  be  screened  and  you,  too,  my 
lady." 

Bale  fully  Dunwoodie  shot  a  glance  at  the  inkbeast 
and  another  at  Cassy. 

"It  may  last  some  time.     I  have  no  doubt  of  the 


284  THE    PALISER   CASE 

result.  None  whatever.  But  in  spite  of  your  legal 
knowledge  I  suggest  that  you  have  associate  counsel. 
Now,  permit  me  to  ask,  would  you  care  to  retain  me  or 
would  you  prefer  some  one  else?" 

Cassy,  who  had  dried  her  eyes,  looked  at  him  and 
it  was  remarkable  how  pretty  she  looked. 

"Why,  no,  Mr.  Dunwoodie,  I  would  much  rather 
have  you,  only "  Uncertainly  she  paused. 

The  eminent  jurist  took  it  up.     "Only  what?" 

"Well,  all  I  know  about  law  is  that  it  is  very  ex 
pensive  and  I  have  nothing  except  my  grandfather's 
portrait." 

Dunwoodie  touched  a  button.    "Ha !  One  moment." 

A  thin  young  man,  with  a  pasty  face  and  a  slight 
stoop,  opened  the  door. 

The  old  ruffian  raised  a  stubby  finger.  "Purdy,  a 
cheque  for  a  thousand  dollars,  to  the  order  of  Bianca 
Paliser,  is  to  be  mailed  to  this  lady  to-night." 

"But,  Mr.  Dunwoodie!"  Cassy  exclaimed. 

"You  must  allow  me  to  be  your  banker,"  he  told  her, 
and  turned  again  to  the  clerk.  "Get  Mr.  Jeroloman. 
Say,  with  my  compliments,  I  shall  be  obliged  if  he  will 
look  in  here.  And,  Purdy,  see  to  it  that  that  cheque  is 
attended  to.  Mrs.  Paliser  will  give  you  her  address." 

"But,  Mr.  Dunwoodie!"  Cassy  exclaimed  again,  as 
the  sallow  youth  went  out. 

To  distract  her  attention,  instantly  Jones  improvised 
a  limerick.  "There  was  a  young  man  named  Purdy, 
who  was  not  what  you'd  call  very  sturdy.  To  be  more 
of  a  sport,  he  drank  gin  by  the  quart,  and  danced  on 
a  hurdy-gurdy." 

"You're  insane,"  announced  Cassy,  who  was  a  trifle 
demented  herself. 

Dunwoodie  extracted  his  towel.    "Jeroloman  is  the 


THE   PALISER   CASE  285 

attorney  for  the  other  side.  He  will  want  to  meet 
Mrs.  Paliser,  but  that  honour  will  not  be  his  to-day." 

Cassy  stood  up.  "I  should  hope  not.  He  would 
be  the  last  camel  on  the  straw — I  mean  the  last  straw 
on  the  camel." 

Dunwoodie,  rising  also,  gave  her  his  fine  bow  and 
to  Jones  a  hand. 

Then  as  the  two  made  for  the  door,  from  over  her 
shoulder  she  smiled  back  at  him. 

"My  grandmother  could  not  have  been  nicer." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Jones  absently  in 
quired. 

But,  in  the  rotunda  now,  Mr.  Purdy  was  asking  her 
address.  If  he  had  dared  he  would  have  followed 
her  there.  Fortune  favouring,  he  would  have  followed 
her  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  It  was  what  one  of  our 
allies  calls  the  thunderbolt.  Never  before  had  he  be 
held  such  a  face.  Earnestly  he  prayed  that  he  might 
behold  it  again.  Allah  is  great.  The  prayer  was 
granted. 

In  the  canon  below,  Jones,  as  he  piloted  her  to  the 
subway,  pulled  at  his  gloves. 

"If  I  had  the  ability,  I  would  write  an  opera,  call 
it  'Danae'  and  offer  you  the  title-role." 

Cassy,  her  thoughts  on  her  grandmother,  repeated 
it.  "Danae?" 

"Yes,  the  lady  disconnected  by  marriage  with 
Jupiter  who  tubbed  her  in  gold — gold  ink,  I  suppose. 
But  as  I  am  not  a  composer  I  shall  put  you  between 
the  sheets — of  a  novel  I  mean.  Fiction  has  its  con 
solations." 

But  now,  leaving  the  canon,  they  entered  a  cavern 
which  a  tunnel  fluted.  There  Cassy  looked  up  at  the 
inkbeast.  "How  is  Mr.  Lennox?  Do  you  see  him?" 


286  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"I  find  it  very  difficult  not  to.  Unattached  people 
are  sticky  as  flies.  When  Lennox  was  engaged,  he 
was  invisible.  Now  he  is  all  over  the  place." 

From  the  tunnel  a  train  erupted.  It  came  with  the 
belch  of  a  monstrous  beetle,  red-eyed  and  menacing, 
hastening  terribly  to  some  horrible  task. 

Jones,  shoving  the  girl  into  its  bowels,  added :  "I 
was  happier  when  he  was  jugged." 

A  corner  beckoned.  There,  as  the  beetle  resumed 
its  flight,  the  novelist  spread  his  wings. 

"I  would  have  wagered  a  red  pippin  that  you 
couldn't  say  Jack  Robinson  before  he  and  that  young 
woman  were  convoluting  joyously.  I  even  planned 
to  be  best  man.  Saw  my  tailor  about  it.  Whether  it 
were  on  that  account  or  not  the  Lords  of  Karma  only 
know,  but  he  told  Miss  Austen  to  go  to  hell." 

Cassy  started.  From  before  her  everything  was 
receding. 

Jones  noting  the  movement,  interpreted  it  naturally 
and  therefore  stupidly.  He  apologised. 

"Forgive  me.  I  picture  you  as  Our  Lady  of  the 
Immaculate  Conversation.  Forgive  me,  then.  Be 
sides,  what  Lennox  did  say,  he  said  with  less  elegance. 
He  said:  Tm  through.'  Yes  and  asked  me  to  re 
peat  it  to  her.  I  studiously  omitted  to,  but  as  Proteus 
— Mr.  Blount  in  private  life — somewhere  expressed  it, 
'Hell  has  no  more  fixed  or  absolute  decree.' ' 

Because  of  the  crashing  beetle  Jones  had  to  shout 
it.  He  shouted  it  in  Cassy 's  ear.  It  was  a  lovely  ear 
and  Jones  was  aware  of  it.  But  only  professionally. 
Since  that  night  in  Naples  when,  by  way  of  keepsake, 
he  got  a  dagger  in  his  back,  he  had  entertained  the  be 
lief  that  a  novelist  should  have  everything,  even  to 
sex,  in  his  brain.  Such  theories  are  very  safe.  Jones' 


THE    PALISER   CASE  287 

admirations  were  not  therefore  carnal.  To  Balzac,  a 
pretty  woman  was  a  plot.  Cassy  was  a  plot  to  Jones, 
who  continued  to  shout. 

"If  Lennox  and  Margaret  Austen  moved  and  had 
their  being  in  a  novel  of  mine,  the  wedding-bells  would 
now  be  ringing  at  a  cradle  in  the  last  chapter.  Com 
mercially  it  would  be  my  duty  to  supply  that  happy 
and  always  unexpected  touch.  I  even  made  a  bet  about 
it,  which  shows  how  iniquitous  gambling  is.  What's 
more,  it  shows  that  I  must  have  an  unsuspected  talent 
for  picture-plays.  As  it  was  in  heaven,  so  it  is  now  in 
the  movies.  It  is  there  that  marriages  are  made.  But 
forgive  me  again.  I  am  talking  shop." 

The  renewed  apology  was  needless.  Though  Jones 
shouted,  Cassy  did  not  hear.  It  was  not  the  clatter 
ing  beetle  that  interfered.  To  that  also  Cassy  was 
deaf.  She  heard  nothing.  The  echo  of  noisy  mil 
lions  had  gone.  The  slamming  doors  were  silent.  But 
her  face  was  pale  as  running  water  when,  the  beetle 
at  last  abandoned,  she  thanked  Jones  for  seeing  her  all 
the  way. 

All  the  way  to  where?    God,  if  she  only  knew! 


XXXV 

LATER  that  day,  Jeroloman,  the  attorney  for  the 
other  side,  who  at  the  time  had  no  idea  that  there 
was  another  side,  or  any  side  at  all,  entered  the  rotunda 
and  asked  for  Dunwoodie. 

In  asking,  he  removed  his  hat,  glanced  at  its  glisten, 
put  it  on  again.  The  hat  was  silk.  It  topped  iron 
grey  hair,  steel-blue  eyes,  a  turn-under  nose,  a  thin- 
lipped  mouth,  a  pointed  chin,  a  stand-up  collar,  a  dark 
neckcloth,  a  morning  coat,  grey  gloves,  grey  trousers, 
drab  spats  and  patent-leather  boots.  These  attributes 
gave  him  an  air  that  was  intensely  respectable,  equally 
tiresome.  One  pitied  his  wife. 

"This  way,  sir." 

In  the  inner  and  airy  office,  Dunwoodie  nodded,  mo 
tioned  at  a  chair. 

"Ha!  Very  good  of  you  to  trouble." 

Jeroloman,  seating  himself,  again  removed  his  hat. 
Before  he  could  dispose  of  it,  Dunwoodie  was  at  him. 

"Young  Paliser's  estate.  In  round  figures  what  does 
it  amount  to?" 

Jeroloman,  selecting  a  safe  place  on  the  table,  put 
the  hat  on  it  and  answered,  not  sparringly,  there  was 
nothing  to  spar  about,  but  with  civil  indifference : 
"Interested  professionally?" 

"His  widow  is  my  client." 

Jeroloman's  eyes  fastened  themselves  on  Dunwoodie, 
who  he  knew  was  incapable  of  anything  that  sa- 

288 


THE   PALISER   CASE  289 

voured,  however  remotely,  of  shysterism.  But  it  was 
a  year  and  a  day  since  he  had  been  closeted  with  him. 
In  the  interim,  time  had  told.  Diverting  those  eyes, 
he  displayed  a  smile  that  was  chill  and  dental. 

"Well,  well!  We  all  make  mistakes.  There  is  no 
such  person."  He  paused,  awaiting  the  possible  pro 
test.  None  came  and  he  added :  "The  morning  after 
the  murder,  his  father  told  me  that  the  young  man 
contemplated  marriage  with  a  lady  who  had  his  en 
tire  approval.  Unfortunately " 

"Yaas,"  Dunwoodie  broke  in.  "Unfortunately,  as 
you  say.  The  morning  after  was  the  26th.  On  the 
2  ist,  a  gardener,  who  pretended  to  be  a  clergyman, 
officiated  at  his  marriage  to  my  client." 

Dryly  but  involuntarily  Jeroloman  laughed.  Dun 
woodie  was  getting  on,  getting  old.  In  his  day  he  had 
been  remarkably  able.  That  day  had  gone. 

"Well,  well!  Even  admitting  that  such  a  thing 
could  have  happened,  it  must  have  been  only  by  way 
of  a  lark." 

Dunwoodie  whipped  out  his  towel.  "You  don't 
say  so!" 

Carelessly  Jeroloman  surveyed  him.  He  was  cer 
tainly  senile,  yet,  because  of  his  laurels,  entitled  to  all 
the  honours  of  war. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Dunwoodie.  You  are  not  by  any 
chance  serious,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  I'm  looking.  While  I  was  about  it,  I  looked 
into  the  case.  Per  verba  de  praesenti,  my  client  con 
sented  to  be  young  Paliser's  wife.  Now  she  is  his 
widow." 

Jeroloman  weighed  it.  The  weighing  took  but  an 
instant.  Dunwoodie  was  living  in  the  past,  but  there 


290  THE    PALISER   CASE 

was  no  use  in  beating  about  the  bush  and  he  said  as 
much. 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  common  law,  sir." 
Absently  Dunwoodie  creased  his  towel.    "Now  you 
mention  it,  I  believe  I  am." 

Jeroloman  glanced  at  his  watch.     It  was  getting 
late.     His  residence  was  five  miles  away.     He  was  to 
dress,  dine  early  and  take  his  wife  to  the  theatre.    He 
would  have  to  hurry  and  he  reached  for  his  hat. 
"The  common  law  was  abrogated  long  ago." 
Dunwoodie  rumpled  the  towel.     "Why,  so  it  was!" 
Jeroloman  took  the  hat  and  with  a  gloved  finger 
rubbed  at  the  brim.     "Even  otherwise,  the  term  com 
mon-law  wife  is  not  legally  recognised.    The  law  looks 
with  no  favour  on  the  connection  indicated  by  it.   The 
term  is  synonymous  for  a  woman  who,  having  lived 
illicitly  with  a  man,  seeks  to  assume  the  relationship 
of  wife  after  his  death  and  thereby  share  in  the  pro 
ceeds  of  his  property." 

From  under  beetling  brows,  Dunwoodie  looked  at 
him.  "Thanks  for  the  lecture,  Jeroloman.  My  client 
has  no  such  desire.  In  this  office,  an  hour  ago,  she  re 
fused  them." 

Jeroloman  stood  up.     "Very  sensible  of  her,  I'm 
sure."     He  twirled  the  hat.     "Who  is  she?" 
"I  thought  I  told  you.     She  is  Mrs.  Paliser." 
Jeroloman  waved  that  hat.    "Well,  well !    I  thought 
I  told  you.     As  it  is,  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to 
look  at  the  laws  of  1901,  you  will  find  that  common- 
law  marriages  are  inhibited/' 

"Hum!  Ha!  And  if  you  will  trouble  to  look  at  the 
Laws  of  1907,  you  will  find  they  are  inhibited  no 
longer." 

Jeroloman  stared.    "I  have  yet  to  learn  of  it." 


THE    PALISER    CASE  291 

Dunwoodie  repocketed  his  towel.  "Is  it  possible? 
Then  when  the  opportunity  occurs  you  might  inform 
yourself.  At  the  same  time  let  me  recommend  the 
Court  of  Appeals  for  March.  You  may  find  there 
additional  instruction.  But  I  set  you  are  going.  Don't 
let  me  detain  you." 

Jeroloman  sat  down.  "What  case  are  you  referring 
to?" 

"The  Matter  of  Ziegler." 

Uncertainly  Jeroloman's  steel-blue  eyes  shifted.  "It 
seems  to  me  I  read  the  syllabus." 

"Then  your  powers  of  concealment  are  admirable." 

"But  just  what  does  it  hold?" 

"Can  it  be  that  you  don't  remember?  Well,  well! 
— to  borrow  your  own  agreeable  mode  of  expression 
— it  holds  that  common-law  marriages  that  were  valid 
before  and  until  the  enactments  which  you  were  good 
enough  to  cite,  were  again  made  valid  by  their  appeal 
in  Chapter  742  of  the  Laws  of  1907." 

"But,"  Jeroloman  began  and  paused.  "But " 

He  paused  again. 

Comfortably  Dunwoodie  helped  him.     "Yes?" 

"You  say  that  marriages  valid  before  and  until  the 
Laws  of  1901  are,  by  virtue  of  a  repeal,  now  valid 
again  ?" 

"That  is  what  I  say,  Jeroloman.  Merely  that  and 
nothing  more.  In  addition  to  the  Ziegler  case,  let  me 
commend  to  you  'The  Raven.' ' 

"Let's  get  down  to  facts,  sir.  From  your  account 
of  it,  this  alleged  marriage  never  could  have  been 
valid." 

Dunwoodie  wiped  his  mouth.  "Dear  me!  I  had 
no  idea  that  my  account  of  it  could  lead  to  such  in 
teresting  views.  You  do  surprise  me." 


292  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"Mr.  Dunwoodie,  you  said  the  ceremony  was  per 
formed  by  a  gardener  who  pretended  to  be  a  clergy 
man.  Those  were  your  very  words." 

"Yaas.    Let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  didn't  I?" 

Archly  but  chillily  Jeroloman  smiled.  "Well,  no, 
I  would  not  care  to  put  it  in  that  way,  but  your  office- 
boy  must  know  that  false  representations  void  it." 

"Good  Lord!"  Dunwoodie  exclaimed.  It  was  as 
though  he  had  been  hit  in  the  stomach. 

Jeroloman,  who  was  eyeing  him,  gave  a  little  nod 
that  was  tantamount  to  saying,  "Take  that !" 

But  Dunwoodie  was  recovering.  He  sat  back, 
looked  admiringly  at  Jeroloman,  clasped  his  hands  and 
twirled  his  thumbs. 

Jeroloman,  annoyed  at  the  attitude  and  in  haste  to 
be  going,  pursed  his  thin  lips.  "Well,  sir?" 

With  an  affability  that  was  as  unusual  as  it  was  sus 
picious,  Dunwoodie  smiled  at  him.  "Your  objection 
is  well  taken.  Not  an  hour  ago,  in  that  chair  in 
which  you  are  sitting,  this  lady,  my  client,  who  not 
once  in  her  sweet  life  has  opened  the  Revised  Statutes, 
and  who,  to  save  it,  could  not  tell  the  difference  be 
tween  them  and  the  Code,  well,  sir,  she  entered  that 
same  objection." 

"I  don't  see " 

"Nor  did  she,  God  bless  her !  And  I  fear  I  wearied 
her  with  my  reasons  for  not  sustaining  it.  But  I  did 
not  tell  her,  what  I  may  confide  in  you,  that  in  Hays 
versus  The  People — 25  New  York — it  is  held  imma 
terial  whether  a  person  who  pretended  to  solemnise 
a  marriage  contract,  was  or  was  not  a  clergyman,  or 
whether  either  party  to  the  contract  was  deceived  by 
false  representations  of  this  character.  Hum!  Ha!" 

Jeroloman  pulled  at  his  long  chin.    In  so  doing  he 


THE   PALISER   CASE  293 

rubbed  his  hat  the  wrong  way.  He  did  not  notice. 
That  he  was  to  dress,  dine  early,  take  his  wife  to  the 
theatre,  that  it  was  getting  late  and  that  his  residence 
was  five  miles  away,  all  these  things  were  forgotten. 
What  he  saw  were  abominations  that  his  client  would 
abhor — the  suit,  the  notoriety,  the  exposure,  the  whole 
dirty  business  dumped  before  the  public's  greedy  and 
shining  eyes. 

"Who  is  she?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

"Who  was  she?"  Dunwoodie  corrected.  "Miss 
Cara." 

Jeroloman  started  and  dropped  his  hat.    "Not ?" 

Dunwoodie  nodded.     "His  daughter." 

Jeroloman,  bending  over,  recovered  his  hat.  Be 
fore  it,  a  picture  floated.  It  represented  an  assassin's 
child  gutting  the  estate  of  a  son  whom  the  father  had 
murdered.  It  was  a  bit  too  cubist.  Somewhere  he 
had  seen  another  picture  of  that  school.  It  showed  a 
young  woman  falling  downstairs.  He  did  not  know 
but  that  he  might  reproduce  it.  At  least  he  could  try. 
Meanwhile  it  was  just  as  well  to  take  the  model's 
measure  and  again  his  eyes  fastened  on  Dunwoodie. 

"What  do  you  suggest?" 

Dunwoodie,  loosening  his  clasped  hands,  beat  with 
the  fingers  a  tattoo  on  his  waistcoat. 

"Let  me  see.  There  is  'The  Raven/  the  first  primer, 
the  multiplication  table.  Is  it  for  your  enlightenment 
that  you  ask?" 

Jeroloman  moistened  his  lips.  Precise,  careful, 
capable,  intensely  respectable,  none  the  less  he  could 
have  struck  him.  A  moment  only.  From  the  sleeve 
of  his  coat  he  flicked,  or  affected  to  flick,  a  speck. 

"Yes,  thank  you,  for  my  enlightenment  You  have 
not  told  me  what  your  client  wants." 


294  THE   PALISER   CASE 

"What  a  woman  wants  is  usually  beyond  masculine 
comprehension." 

Methodically  Jeroloman  dusted  his  hat.  "You 
might  enquire.  We,  none  of  us,  favour  litigation.  In 
the  interests  of  my  client  I  always  try  to  avoid  it  and, 

while  at  present  I  have  no  authority,  yet Well, 

well!  Between  ourselves,  how  would  a  ponderable 
amount,  four  or  five  thousand,  how  would  that  do?" 

Blandly  Dunwoodie  looked  at  this  man,  who  was 
trying  to  take  Cassy's  measure. 

"For  what?" 

"To  settle  it." 

That  bland  air,  where  was  it  ?  In  its  place  was  the 
look  which  occasionally  the  ruffian  turned  on  the 
Bench. 

"Hum!  Ha!  Then  for  your  further  enlightenment 
let  me  inform  you  that  my  client  will  settle  it  for  what 
she  is  legally  entitled  to,  not  one  ponderable  dollar 
more,  not  one  ponderable  copper  less." 

Mentally,  from  before  that  look,  Jeroloman  was  re 
treating.  Mentally  as  well,  already  he  had  reversed 
himself.  He  had  judged  Dunwoodie  old,  back-num 
ber,  living  in  the  past.  Instead  of  which  the  fossil 
was  what  he  always  had  been — just  one  too  many. 
Though  not  perhaps  for  him.  Not  for  Randolph  F. 
Jeroloman.  Not  yet,  at  any  rate.  The  points  ad 
vanced  were  new,  undigested,  perhaps  inexact,  filled 
with  discoverable  flaws.  Though,  even  so,  how  M.  P. 
would  view  them  was  another  kettle  of  fish.  But 
that  was  as  might  be.  He  put  on  his  hat  and  stood  up. 

"Very  good.    I  will  give  the  matter  my  attention." 

"Do,"  Dunwoodie,  with  that  same  look,  retorted, 
"And  meanwhile  I  will  apply  for  letters  of  adminis- 


THE    PALISER    CASE  295 

tration.  Hum!  Ha!  My  compliments  to  your  good 
lady." 

He  turned  in  his  chair.  Attention,  indeed!  He 
knew  what  that  meant.  The  matter  would  be  submit 
ted  to  M.  P.  The  old  devil  had  not  a  leg  to  stand  on, 
he  lacked  even  a  crutch,  and  in  that  impotent,  dis 
membered  and  helpless  condition  he  would  be  thrown 
out  of  court.  A  ponderable  amount!  Hum! 

For  a  moment  he  considered  the  case.  But  it  may 
be  that  already  it  had  been  heard  and  adjudged.  Long 
since,  perhaps,  at  some  court  of  last  resort,  the  Pal- 
iser  Case  had  been  decided. 


XXXVI 

ON  the  morrow,  Jeroloman,  waited  on  his  client, 
who  received  him  in  the  library,  an  agreeable 
room  in  which  there  was  nothing  literary,  but  which 
succeeded  at  once  in  becoming  extremely  unpleasant. 

M.  P.  was  in  tweeds.  When  his  late  lamented  de 
parted  this  life,  he  wore  crepe  on  his  hat  for  ninety 
days.  It  was  a  tribute  that  he  paid,  not  to  the  lady's 
virtues,  which  were  notoriously  absent;  nor  to  any 
love  of  her,  for  he  had  disliked  her  exceedingly;  nor 
yet  because  it  was  conventional,  he  hated  convention 
ality  ;  but,  by  Gad,  sir,  because  it  bucks  the  women  up ! 
All  that  was  long  ago.  Since  then  he  had  become  less 
fastidious.  At  his  son's  funeral  he  appeared  in  black. 

Now,  on  this  day,  dressed  in  tweeds,  he  greeted 
Jeroloman  with  his  usual  cordiality. 

"I  hope  to  God  you  are  not  going  to  bother  me 
about  anything?" 

The  wicked  old  man,  who  had  faced  wicked  facts 
before,  faced  a  few  of  them  then.  The  stench  of  the 
main  fact  had  been  passing  from  him,  deodorised 
by  the  fumigating  belief  that  his  son  had  been  killed 
by  a  lunatic.  Now  here  it  was  again,  more  mephitic 
than  ever,  and  for  the  whiffs  of  it  with  which  Jerolo 
man  was  spraying  him,  he  hated  the  man. 

"Whom  has  she?" 

"Dunwoodie." 

He  reviewed  the  bar.  There  was  Bancroft,  whose 

296 


THE   PALISER   CASE  297 

name  was  always  in  the  papers  and  to  whom  clients 
flocked.  There  was  Gwathmay,  whom  the  papers  ig 
nored  and  whom  only  lawyers  consulted.  He  might 
have  either  or  both,  the  rest  of  the  crew  as  well,  and 
in  spite  of  them  all,  unless  he  permitted  himself  to  be 
done,  the  publicity  would  be  just  as  resounding. 

In  the  old  nights,  when  social  New  York  was  a 
small  and  early,  threats  had  amused  him.  "I  have 
my  hours  for  being  blackmailed,  this  is  not  one  of 
them,"  he  had  lightly  remarked  at  a  delightful  gang. 
"Do  your  damnedest." 

They  took  him  at  his  word  and  so  completely  that 
the  small  and  early  saw  him  no  more.  What  was 
that  to  him  ?  There  were  other  pastures,  less  scrump 
tious  perhaps,  but  also  far  less  fatiguing.  He  had 
not  cared,  not  a  rap.  Behind  him  the  yard  of  brass 
yodled  in  a  manner  quite  as  lordly  as  before.  His 
high-steppers  lost  none  of  their  sheen;  his  yacht  re 
tained  all  its  effulgence;  so,  too,  did  the  glare  of  his 
coin.  No,  he  had  not  cared.  But  that  was  long  ago, 
so  long  that  it  might  have  happened  in  an  anterior 
existence.  He  had  not  cared  then.  Age  is  instructive. 
He  had  learned  to  since.  Moreover,  in  testimony  of 
his  change  of  heart,  a  miracle  had  been  vouchsafed. 
The  affair  at  the  Opera,  attributed  to  a  lunatic,  had 
been  buried  safely,  like  his  son,  the  scandal  tossed  in 
for  shroud.  How  freely  he  had  breathed  since  then! 
The  little  green  bottle  of  menthe  he  had  barely 
touched.  He  might  live  to  see  everything  forgiven 
or,  what  is  quite  as  satisfactory,  forgotten.  And 
now!  Columns  and  columns,  endlessly,  day  in,  day 
out;  the  Paliser  Case  dragged  from  one  court  to  an 
other,  the  stench  of  it  exceeded  only  by  that  of  the 
Huns !  But,  by  comparison,  blackmail,  however  bit- 


298  THE   PALISER   CASE 

ter,  was  sweet.  When  one  may  choose  between  honey 
and  gall,  decision  is  swift. 

"What1!!  she  take?" 

Jeroloman,  who  had  left  his  hat  on  the  malachite 
bench  in  the  hall,  smoothed  his  gloves.  He  was  about 
to  reply.  Before  he  could,  his  client  shook  a  fist  at 
him. 

"The  slut  hasn't  a  cent.  Came  to  the  Place  with  a 
bundle,  damn  her.  A  suit  like  this  costs  something. 
Where's  she  going  to  get  it?  What'll  she  take?" 

Jeroloman  looked  up  from  his  gloves.  "I  don't 
know." 

"Then  find  out." 

"I  offered  Dunwoodie  a  ponderable  amount." 

"Well?" 

"He  refused  it." 

"Double  it,  then,  triple  it." 

"Mr.  Paliser,  I'm  sorry,  but  it  won't  do." 

"Damnation,  why  not?" 

"It  is  all  or  nothing  with  him  and  maybe  nothing 
in  the  end.  I  told  him  so.  I  told  him  that  the  courts 
view  with  no  favour  a  woman  who,  having  lived  il 
licitly  with  a  man,  claims,  on  his  demise,  to  be  his 
widow.  Such  a  claim  is  but  the  declaration  of  a 
woman  entered  after  the  death  of  her  alleged  hus 
band  and,  as  such,  is  inadmissable  under  Section  829 
of  the  Code.  I  have  posted  myself  very  thoroughly 
in  the  matter,  though  I  find  it  has  been  held " 

"Damn  what  has  been  held.  It's  all  or  nothing, 
is  it?" 

Jeroloman  pulled  at  his  long  chin. 

All,  the  wicked  old  man  reflected.  All!  All  would 
be  ten  million  and  ten  million  was  less  than  a  tenth 
of  his  wealth — ten  million  for  which  he  had  no  earthly 


THE    PALISER   CASE  299 

need,  which  it  would  fatigue  him  to  spend,  burden 
him  to  hoard,  disgrace  him  to  fight  for,  and  which, 
normally,  would  go  to  a  brat  whom  he  had  never  seen 
and  whom,  as  next  in  line,  he  hated. 

Already  he  had  decided.  Though,  it  may  be  that 
on  planes  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  long  since  it  had 
been  decided  for  him. 

None  the  less  it  hurt.  It  hurt  horribly.  From  a 
pocket,  he  drew  a  little  bottle. 

"Settle  it  then." 

"On  what  basis?" 

"All  and  be  damned  to  her." 

But  now  the  menthe  that  he  had  raised  to  his  lips 
was  trickling  from  the  bottle,  staining  his  tweeds.  He 
hiccoughed,  gasped,  motioned. 

"And  good-day  to  you." 

Below,  on  the  malachite  bench,  a  silk  hat  was  wait 
ing.  When  that  hat  again  appeared  in  Dunwoodie's 
office,  the  Paliser  Case  was  over.  It  had  ended  be 
fore  it  began. 


XXXVII 

ASSY  sat  in  the  kitchen.  Before  her  were  a 
cheque  and  a  letter.  The  letter  was  from  the 
theatre-man.  The  cheque  was  Dunwoodie's.  The 
cheque  begged  to  be  cashed,  the  letter  begged  her 
to  call. 

During  the  night  she  had  gone  looking  along  an  ave 
nue  where  there  were  houses  with  candid  windows 
from  which  faces  peered  and  smiled.  But  it  was  not 
for  these  that  she  was  looking  and  she  awoke  in  a 
tempest  of  farewells. 

Now,  across  the  court,  in  the  kitchen  opposite,  were 
two  inoffensive  beings.  On  that  evening  when  her 
father  had  made  her  cry,  they  had  seemed  unreal. 
On  this  forenoon  their  baseless  appearance  persisted. 
But  their  unreality  was  not  confined  to  them.  Their 
kitchen,  the  court,  the  building  shared  it.  They  were 
all  unreal,  everything  was,  except  one  thing  only, 
which  perhaps  was  more  unreal  than  all  things  else. 

She  looked  at  the  letter  and  from  it  at  the  cheque. 
The  day  before,  on  returning  from  the  shower  of 
millions  that  had  caught  and  drenched  her  in  Broad 
Street,  she  was  not  entirely  dry.  The  glisten  of  the 
golden  rain  hung  all  about  her.  None  the  less  on 
reaching  the  walk-up  she  forgot  it.  There  were  other 
matters,  more  important,  that  she  had  in  mind.  But 
only  a  philosopher  could  be  drenched  as  she  had  been 
and  remain  unaffected.  The  bath  is  too  voluptuous 
for  the  normal  heart.  On  its  waters  float  argosies 
crimson-hulled,  purple-rigged,  freighted  with  dreams 

300 


THE    PALISER    CASE  301 

come  true.  You  have  but  a  gesture  to  make.  Those 
dreams  are  spaniels  crouching  at  your  feet.  At  a 
bath  not  dissimilar  but  financially  far  shallower,  Monte 
Cristo  cried :  "The  world  is  mine !"  It  was  very 
amusing  of  him.  But  though,  since  then,  values  have 
varied,  a  bagatelle  of  ten  millions  is  deep  enough  for 
any  girl,  sufficiently  deep  at  least  for  its  depths  to  hold 
strange  things. 

At  those  things,  strange  indeed  and  yet  not  unfa 
miliar,  Cassy  beckoned.  In  their  embrace  she  saw 
herself,  as  Jones  had  pictured  her,  going  about,  giving 
money  away,  strewing  it  full-handed,  changing  sobs 
into  smiles.  The  picture  lacked  novelty.  Often  she 
had  dreamed  it.  Only  recently,  on  the  afternoon  just 
before  the  clock  struck  twelve,  just  before  the  gardener 
lit  his  pipe  and  the  mask  had  fallen,  only  then,  and, 
relatively,  that  was  but  yesterday,  she  had  prome 
naded  in  it.  It  was  a  dream  she  had  dreamed  when  a 
child,  that  had  haunted  her  girlhood,  that  had  abided 
since  then.  It  was  the  dream  of  a  dream  she  had 
dreamed  without  daring  to  believe  in  its  truth.  Now, 
from  the  core  of  the  web  that  is  spun  by  the  spiderous 
fates,  out  it  had  sprung.  There,  before  her  eyes, 
within  her  grasp  was  that  miracle,  a  rainbow  solidi 
fied,  vapour  made  tangible,  a  dream  no  longer  a  dream 
but  a  palette  and  a  palette  that  you  could  toss  in  the 
air,  put  in  the  bank,  secrete  or  squander,  a  palette  with 
which  you  could  paint  the  hours  and  make  them  twist 
to  jewelled  harps.  No  more  walk-up!  Good-bye, 
kitchy!  Harlem,  addio!  The  gentleman  with  the 
fabulous  nose  could  whistle.  Vaudeville,  indeed  I  She 
could  buy  the  shop,  buy  a  dozen  of  them,  tear  them 
down,  build  them  up,  throw  them  into  one  and  sing 
there,  sing  what  she  liked,  when  she  liked,  as  she  liked. 
Yes,  but  for  whom  ?  God  of  gods,  for  whom  ? 


302  THE   PALISER   CASE 

A  local  newspaper  bears — or  bore — a  sage  device: 
La  nuit  porte  conseil.  That  night,  on  her  white  bed, 
in  her  black  room,  Cassy  sought  it.  But  the  counsel 
that  night  brings  is  not  delivered  while  you  toss  about. 
Night  waits  until  you  sleep.  Then,  to  the  subjective 
self  that  never  sleeps,  the  message  is  delivered.  It 
may  be  fallible,  often  it  is  and,  in  our  scheme  of 
things,  what  is  there  that  is  not  ?  Yet  in  any  dilemma 
bad  advice  may  be  better  than  none.  Then,  without 
transition,  the  black  room  changed  into  an  avenue 
where  faces  peered  and  smiled.  It  was  not  though 
for  these  that  she  was  looking,  but  for  her  way.  It 
must  have  been  very  narrow.  Though  she  looked  and 
looked  she  could  not  find  it.  Yet  it  was  near, 
perhaps  just  around  the  corner.  But  in  some  manner, 
she  could  not  reach  it.  Sleep  sank  her  deeper.  When 
she  awoke,  there  it  was. 

Now  as  she  sat  in  the  kitchen,  before  which,  in  the 
kitchen  opposite,  bundles  of  baseless  appearances  came 
and  went,  she  began  counting  her  wealth  on  her 
fingers.  Youth !  Up  went  her  thumb.  Health !  The 
forefinger.  Lungs!  The  second  finger.  Not  being 
a  fright !  The  fourth.  How  rich  she  was !  But  was 
there  not  something  else  ?  Oh,  yes !  Sadly  she  smiled. 
A  clear  conscience!  She  had  forgotten  that  and  that 
came  first.  Youth,  health,  lungs,  looks,  these  were 
gamblers'  tokens  in  the  great  roulette  of  life.  In  the 
hazards  of  chance  at  any  moment  she  might  lose  one 
or  all,  as  eventually  she  must  lose  them  and  remain 
no  poorer  than  before.  But  her  first  asset  which  she 
had  counted  last,  that  was  her  fortune,  the  estate  she 
held  by  virtue  of  a  trust  so  guardedly  created  that  if 
she  lost  one  mite,  the  whole  treasure  was  withdrawn. 

On  the  washtub — covered  admirably  with  linoleum 
— at  which  she  sat,  were  the  cheque  for  a  thousand 


THE    PALISER    CASE  303 

dollars  and  the  bid  from  the  vaudeville  man.  The 
bid,  she  knew,  meant  money.  But  the  cheque  would 
beggar  her. 

She  drew  breath  and  sat  back.  From  above  a  fil 
ter  of  sunlight  fell  and  told  her  it  was  noon.  Across 
the  court  the  bundles  of  baseless  appearances  trans 
formed  themselves  into  a  real  woman,  an  actual  child. 
The  kitchen  in  which  they  moved,  the  house  in  which 
they  dwelled  were  no  longer  the  perceptions  of  a  per- 
ceiver.  They  also  were  real.  So,  too,  was  life. 

An  hour  and  Mr.  Purdy's  pasty  face  turned  feebly 
red.  He  stammered  it. 

No,  unfortunately,  Mr.  Dunwoodie  was  out.  Would 
Mrs.  Paliser  wait?  In  Mr.  Dunwoodie's  private  of 
fice?  And  the  'Herald'  perhaps  or  the  'Times' — or 


Everything  there,  Broad  Street  to  boot,  the  Stock 
Exchange  included,  Mr.  Purdy  was  ready  and  anxious 
to  offer. 

No,  Mrs.  Paliser  would  not  wait — and  mentally  she 
thanked  her  stars  for  it.  But  would  Mr.  Purdy  do 
something  for  her? 

Would  he!  The  brave  spirit  of  Talleyrand  must 
have  animated  that  sickly  young  man.  If  what  Mrs. 
Paliser  desired  were  possible  it  would  be  done :  if  im 
possible,  it  was  done  already. 

Cassy  gave  him  the  rare  seduction  of  her  smile. 
She  also  was  entertaining  an  emotion  or  two.  She  had 
not  at  all  known  where  she  would  find  the  strength 
to  confront  and  confute  a  grandmotherly  old  ruffian. 
But  luck  was  with  her.  He  was  out. 

So  very  good  of  Mr.  Purdy  then  and  would  he 
please  give  Mr.  Dunwoodie  this  cheque  and  say  she's 
sorry  she  can't  accept  it  or  the  other  money  either? 
She  had  said  she  would,  but,  really,  it  was  not  intended 


304  THE    PALISER    CASE 

for  her.  Supposing  she  took  it.  She  would  feel  like 
a  thief  in  a  fog.  Exactly  that.  A  thief  in  a  fog. 
No,  she  couldn't.  Couldn't  and  wouldn't.  Just  as 
grateful  though  to  Mr.  Dunwoodie.  Her  regrets  to 
him  and  a  thousand  thanks. 

"And  good-day,  Mr.  Purdy.    I  thank  you  also." 

Mr.  Purdy,  flushing  feebly,  saw  her  to  the  door, 
saw  her  to  the  hall  without.  There,  while  he  waited 
with  her  for  a  descending  lift,  a  silk  hat  that  had 
just  come  from  a  malachite  bench,  alighted  from  an 
ascending  one.  Immediately  the  other  lift  took  her. 

"Who  was  that?"  the  hat's  owner  alertly  asked. 

Mr.  Purdy  rubbed  his  perspiring  hands.  "Mrs. 
Paliser." 

Jeroloman  wheeled  like  a  rat.  He  looked  at  the 
cage.  It  had  vanished.  He  looked  at  the  other. 
Above  it  a  moving  finger  pointed  upward.  Cold 
blooded,  meticulously  precise,  intensely  respectable, 
none  the  less,  for  one  delirious  second,  madness  seized 
him.  He  wished  to  God  he  could  hurry  down,  over 
take  the  impostor,  lure  her  into  his  own  office,  frighten 
her  out  of  such  wits  as  she  possessed  and  buy  her  off 
for  tuppence.  Instantly  Respectability  had  him  by 
the  collar.  He  could  not.  Precision  gave  him  a  kick. 
Wouldn't  stand  if  he  did. 

Deeply  he  swore.  The  millions  were  gone.  Hands 
down,  without  a  struggle,  the  Paliser  estate  was 
rooked.  No  fault  of  his  though,  and  mechanically  he 
adjusted  that  hat.  Damn  her! 

In  the  street  below,  superbly,  with  sidereal  indif 
ference,  the  sun  shone  down  on  the  imbecile  activities 
of  man.  The  storm  of  the  day  before  that  had 
drenched  Cassy  so  abundantly,  had  been  blown  afar, 
blown  from  her  forever.  The  sky  in  which  a  volcano 
had  formed  was  remote  and  empty. 


THE    PALISER    CASE  305 

"Ouf !"  Cassy  muttered  in  relief  and  muttered,  too : 
"Now  for  the  agent!" 

She  had  reached  the  corner.  Just  beyond  was  the 
subway.  It  would  land  her  within  two  squares  of  the 
man's  greasy  office.  Now,  though,  suddenly,  she  felt 
a  gnawing.  A  sandwich  would  taste  good.  Two 
sandwiches  would  taste  better.  Then,  quite  as  sud 
denly,  that  vision,  the  street  with  it,  everything,  ex 
cept  one  thing  only,  vanished. 

Blocking  the  way  stood  Lennox. 

"Where  to  in  such  a  hurry?" 

Easily  she  smiled  and  told  him.  "I'm  going  to 
buy  a  rhinoceros."  But  for  all  the  easiness  of  it  her 
tongue  nearly  tripped.  "And  what  are  you  doing?" 

"I?    Oh!     Cleaning  up." 

Wall  Street  is  not  a  Japanese  tea-garden.  It  lacks 
the  klop-klop  of  fountains.  Yet,  even  in  its  metallic 
roar  there  may — for  exceptional  beings — be  peace 
there.  Not  for  Cassy,  though.  She  could  have 
screamed. 

A  moment  only.  Lennox  turned  and  both  moved  on. 

"Let's  get  out  of  this." 

Cassy  looked  up  at  him.  "You  forget  my  little 
errand." 

"Ah,  yes!  The  rhinoceros.  Couldn't  you  ask  me 
to  meet  him?" 

"I  shall  be  giving  dinner-parties  for  him  every 
evening.  Would  you  care  to  come?" 

They  had  reached  cavernous  steps  down  which  Cassy 
was  going. 

Lennox  raised  his  hat.     "I  will  come  to-night." 

Through  the  metallic  roar,  the  four  words  dropped 
and  hummed. 


XXXVIII 

I"T  is  going  to  be  splendid.  There  will  be  candles!" 
•*•  — a  young  person,  dead  since  but  still  living,  ex 
claimed  of  her  poet's  fete.  The  fete,  however  lavish, 
and  which  you  will  find  reported  by  Murger,  was  not 
held  in  a  kitchen.  The  poet's  garret  did  not  contain 
a  kitchen.  That  was  Paris. 

Hereabouts,  nowadays,  walk-ups  are  more  ornate. 
Cassy's  dinner  that  night  was  served  on  rich  linoleum 
and  not  out  of  snobbishness  either  but  because  the 
table  had  gone  from  the  living-room  and  though  the 
piano  remained  one  could  not  very  well  dine  on  that, 
or,  for  that  matter,  on  the  sofa.  There  are  details  into 
which  a  hostess  never  enters.  Cassy — in  black  chif 
fon — did  not  offer  any  and  Lennox — in  evening  clothes 
— did  not  ask.  He  had  never  dined  in  a  kitchen  be 
fore  and,  so  far  as  the  present  historian  knows  not 
to  the  contrary,  he  did  not  dine  in  one  again.  But 
he  enjoyed  the  experience.  There  was  cold  chicken, 
a  salad,  youth,  youth's  wine  and  running  laughter. 
For  dessert,  a  remark. 

The  rich  linoleum  then  had  been  abandoned  for 
the  other  room  where  Cassy  sat  on  the  sofa  and  Len 
nox  on  the  one  surviving  chair.  Beyond  was  the  piano. 
Additionally,  in  some  neighbourly  flat,  a  phonograph 
performed. 

Among  these  luxuries  sweets  were  served.  A  ques 
tion  preceded  them. 

"Do  you  remember  the  afternoon  you  were  in  my 
rooms  ?" 


THE   PALISER   CASE  307] 

Yes,  Cassy  remembered  it. 

Then  came  the  remark.  "That  afternoon  I  laughed. 
Until  to-night — except  once — I  haven't  laughed  since 
then." 

Very  good  dessert,  with  more  to  follow. 

"When  you  went,  the  sunlight  went  with  you.  It 
went  out  at  your  heels  like  a  dog.  I  was  thinking 
about  it  recently.  I  don't  seem  to  have  seen  the  sun 
light  again,  until  it  played  about  your  rhinoceros." 

There  are  sweets  that  are  bitter.    Cassy  took  one. 

"Mr.  Jones  told  me.  It  does  seem  such  a  pity,  such 
a  great  pity.  I  saw  her  once  and  I  could  see  she  was 
not  merely  good  to  look  at  but  really  good,  good 
through  and  through." 

"May  I  smoke?"  Lennox  asked. 

Had  he  wished  he  could  have  stood  on  his  head. 
Cassy  nodded  at  him.  He  got  out  a  cigar. 

"Miss  Austen  is  all  you  say.  She  is  a  saint.  A 
man  doesn't  want  a  saint.  A  man  wants  flesh  and 
blood." 

Cassy  took  another  bitter-sweet.  "She's  that.  Any 
one  would  know  it." 

Lennox  bit  at  the  cigar.  "Too  good  for  me,  though. 
So  good  that  she  threw  me  over." 

Cassy  put  a  finger  through  it.  "She  did  not  under 
stand.  Any  girl  might  have  done  the  same." 

Sombrely  Lennox  considered  her.  "Would  you? 
You  say  she  did  not  understand.  I  know  well  enough 
she  did  not.  But  if  you  cared  for  a  man,  would  you 
throw  him  over  because  of  a  charge  which  you  could 
not  be  sure  was  true  and  without  giving  him  a  chance 
to  disprove  it?  Would  you?" 

He  could  stand  on  his  head,  yes,  but  it  was  unfair 
to  grill  her.  She  flushed. 

"I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it." 


308  THE    PALISER   CASE 

"How,  you  don't  see?" 

"Isn't  it  obvious?  Miss  Austen  and  I  move  in  dif 
ferent  worlds.  On  any  subject  our  views  might  dif 
fer  and  I  don't  mean  at  all  but  that  hers  would  be 
superior." 

"There  can  be  but  one  view  of  what's  square." 

"I  am  sure  she  meant  to  be." 

Unconcernedly,  Lennox  smiled.  The  smile  lit  his 
face.  From  sombre  it  became  radiant. 

"That's  all  very  well.  The  point  is  what  you  would 
think.  Would  you  think  it  square  to  throw  a  man 
over  as  she  threw  me?" 

Cassy  showed  her  teeth.  "If  I  didn't  care  for  him, 
certainly  I  would." 

"But  if  you  did?" 

That  was  too  much.  Cassy  exclaimed  at  it.  "If! 
If!  How  can  I  tell?  I  don't  know.  I  lack  expe 
rience." 

"But  not  heart." 

He  was  right  about  that,  worse  luck.  How  it  beat, 
too !  It  would  kill  her  though  to  have  him  suspect  it. 

"I  do  wish  you  would  tell  me,"  he  added. 

Cassy,  casting  about,  felt  like  an  imbecile  and  said 
brilliantly:  "Haven't  you  a  match?  Shall  I  fetch 
one?" 

Lennox  extracted  a  little  case.  "Thanks.  It's  an 
answer  I'd  like." 

It  was  enough  to  drive  you  mad  and  again  casting 
about,  but  not  getting  it,  she  hedged. 

"It  will  have  to  be  in  the  abstract,  then." 

"Very  good.    Let's  have  it  in  the  abstract." 

Yet  even  in  the  abstract!  However,  with  an  up 
lift  of  the  chin  that  gave  her,  she  felt,  an  air  of  dis 
cussing  a  matter  in  which  she  had  no  concern  at  all, 
she  plunged. 


THE    PALISER   CASE  309 

"One  never  knows,  don't  you  know,  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  if  by  any  chance  I  did  care  for  a  man — not 
that  it  is  in  the  least  presumable  that  I  ever  shall — 
but  if  I  did,  why,  then,  no.  He  couldn't  get  rid  of 
me,  not  unless  he  tried  very  hard,  but  if  he  didn't, 
then  no  matter  what  I  heard,  no  matter  how  true  it 
might  be,  I  would  cling  to  his  coat-tails,  that  is,  if  he 
wore  them,  and  if,  also,  he  cared  for  a  ninny  like  me/* 

Cassy  paused,  shook  her  docked  hair  and  solemnly 
resumed:  "Which,  of  course,  he  couldn't." 

"I  knew  you  would  say  that." 

"Say  what?"  Previously  flushed,  she  reddened.  But 
there  is  a  God.  The  room  had  grown  dim. 

"That  you  wouldn't  cut  and  run." 

She  could  have  slapped  him.  "Then  why  did  you 
ask  me?" 

Lennox  blew  a  ring  of  smoke. 

"To  have  you  see  it  as  I  do.  To  have  you  see  that 
at  the  first  flurry  Miss  Austen  ran  to  cover.  I  am 
quite  sure  I  could  show  her  that  she  ran  too  quick, 
but  I  am  equally  sure  it  is  a  blessing  that  she  did  run. 
It  is  not  ambitious  of  a  man  to  want  a  girl  who  will 
stand  her  ground.  Sooner  or  later  some  other  flurry 
would  have  knocked  the  ground  from  under  and  then 
it  might  have  been  awkward.  This  one  let  me  out." 

He  stood  up,  opened  the  window,  dropped  the  cigar 
from  it.  The  cigar  might  have  been  Margaret  Austen. 

"What  are  your  plans?"  he  asked  and  sat  again. 

Ah,  how  much  safer  that  was!  Cassy  grabbed 
at  it. 

"You  are  the  third  person  to  ask  me.  First,  Mr. 

Jones.  Then — then "  But  she  did  not  want  to 

mention  Dunwoodie  or  anything  about  the  great  cas 
cade  of  gorgeous  follies  and  she  jumped  them  both. 
"Then  an  agent.  He  asked  me  yesterday  and  to-day 


310  THE   PALISER   CASE 

he  had  a  contract  for  me  and  a  cheque  in  advance.  He 
is  a  very  horrid  little  man  but  so  decent!" 

"When  does  it  begin?" 

'The  engagement?  Next  week.  What  plans  have 
you?" 

"A  few  that  have  been  made  for  me.  Presently  we 
sail." 

"For  France?" 

"For  France." 

It  was  cooler  now,  at  least  her  face  was,  and  she 
got  up  and  switched  the  light. 

"I  wish  I  might  go,  too,"  she  told  him.  "But  I 
lack  the  training  to  be  nurse  and  the  means  to  be 
vivandiere — canteener,  I  think  they  call  it."  She  hes 
itated  and  added.  "Shall  I  see  you  before  you  go?" 

But  now  from  the  phonograph  in  the  neighbourly 
flat,  the  Non  te  scordar  drifted,  sung  nobly  by  some 
fat  tenor  who  probably  loathed  it. 

Lennox,  who  had  risen  with  her,  asked :  "May 
I  come  to-morrow?" 

The  aria  enveloped  them  and  for  a  moment  Cassy 
trilled  in. 

"Perhaps  to-morrow  you  will  sing  for  me,"  he 
continued. 

"Yes,  I'll  sing." 

Later,  in  the  black  room  on  the  white  bed,  the  fat 
tenor's  tuneful  prayer  floated  just  above  her.  Cassy 
repeated  the  words  and  told  herself  she  was  silly.  She 
may  have  been,  but  also  she  was  tired.  She  knew  it 
and  for  a  moment  wondered  why.  Painted  hours  danc 
ing  to  jewelled  harps  are  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  But 
when  they  are  not  yours,  when  you  have  really  no 
right  to  them,  it  is  not  fatiguing  to  say  so.  A  ges 
ture  does  not  fatigue.  It  is  certainly  taxing  to  go  to 
a  greasy  office,  sign  your  name  and  receive  a  cheque. 


THE    PALISER   CASE  311 

Taxing  but  endurable.  It  is  not  that  that  does  you 
up.  It  is  argument  that  tires  you,  particularly  when 
there  is  no  need  for  any  and  you  are  forced  to  turn 
yourself  inside  out.  How  fortunate  it  was,  though, 
that  the  room  had  been  dark!  In  the  balm  of  that, 
sleep  took  her. 

The  next  day  she  had  many  things  to  do  and  suc 
ceeded  in  botching  most  of  them.  I  have  no  mind 
for  anything,  she  decided.  What  is  the  matter  with 
me?  But,  at  least,  when  at  last  she  opened  the  door 
for  him,  there  was  nothing  amiss  with  her  appearance. 

In  the  room  where  the  piano  was,  she  sat  down  on 
the  bench  and  smiled  up  at  him.  "Shall  I  sing  now?" 

Lennox  put  his  hat  on  the  sofa.  "If  you  don't  mind 
my  talking  to  you." 

"Very  good,  we  will  have  a  duo." 

Over  the  keys  her  fingers  moved,  sketching  a  mel 
ody,  passing  from  it  into  another. 

Beside  the  bench  Lennox  had  drawn  the  only  chair. 
He  looked  about,  then  at  her. 

"I  remember  so  well  the  first  time  I  came  here." 

Her  lips  tightened,  but,  suppressing  the  smile,  she 
turned  to  him  and  said  and  so  patiently: 

"Is  it  a  song  without  words  you  want,  or  words 
without  song?" 

Lennox  leaned  toward  her.  It  was  then  or,  it  might 
be,  never. 

"It  is  you  I  want." 

Cassy  turned  from  him.  Her  fingers,  prompted  by 
a  note,  had  gone  from  it  into  Gounod. 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Certainly  not." 

It  was  as  though  he  had  asked  her  to  go  skating. 
To  mark  the  absurdity  of  it  her  voice  mounted. 

"Le  printemps  chasse  les  hivers " 


312  THE    PALISER    CASE 

The  words  are  imbecile  but  the  air,  which  is  charm 
ing,  seemed  to  occupy  her  wholly. 

"Et  sourit  dans  les  arbres  verts " 

"I  know  you  don't  care  for  me  but  couldn't  you 
try?" 

"Eh?"  Cassy  stayed  her  fingers,  reached  for  a 
score  on  the  top  of  the  upright.  "I  thought  you 
wanted  me  to  sing." 

"I  want  to  know  whether  you  can't  ever  care  for 


me." 


It  sang  about  her  like  a  flute.  Something  else  was 
singing,  not  the  bird  in  her  throat,  for  she  had  hushed 
it,  but  a  bird  in  her  heart.  It  had  been  singing  ever 
since  he  had  entered  the  room.  It  had  been  singing 
with  her  the  duo  of  which  lightly  she  had  spoken. 
But  it  was  singing  too  loud. 

Hastily  she  replaced  the  score,  pulled  at  another, 
shoved  it  back. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  ?"  Lennox  was  asking. 

It  will  burst,  she  thought.  Sidling  from  the  bench, 
she  went  to  the  sofa,  looked  at  it  as  though  she  had 
never  seen  it  before,  and  sat  down. 

"Won't  you?"  he  repeated. 

She  glanced  over  at  him.  Apparently  now  she  was 
calm  as  you  please. 

"People  marry  out  of  optimism,  or  at  any  rate  I 
did.  I  have  had  my  lesson,  thank  you." 

Lennox  stood  up.     "You  have  suffered " 

"I  read  somewhere/'  she  cut  in,  "that  we  have  to 
suffer  terribly  before  we  learn  not  to  suffer  at  all." 
Pausing,  she  added:  "I  suppose  then  we  are  dead." 

She  was  getting  away  from  it  and  he  rounded  on 
her. 

"See  here!    We  have  both  been  in  hell,  but  that's 


THE    PALISER   CASE  313 

over.    Even  otherwise,  hell  would  not  be  hell  to  me  if 
I  were  in  it  with  you." 

Thump!  Thump!  It  was  worse  than  ever.  None 
the  less  she  looked  cool  as  a  cucumber. 

'The  prospect  is  not  very  tempting.  Besides,  even 
if  it  were "  Again  she  paused,  but  this  time  with 
out  getting  on  with  it. 

He  came  toward  her.    "Even  if  it  were  what?" 

"Temptation  has  its  dangers.  It  may  lead  to  cap 
tivity." 

"And  you  fear  that?" 

"For  you,  yes." 

"For  me !"  he  exclaimed. 

How  it  thumped!  It  thumped  so  that  it  hurt,  yet 
spartanly  she  contrived  to  smile. 

"You  or  any  one.  I  was  speaking  generally.  Then, 
too,  you  know,  hell  may  not  be  all  your  fancy  pic 
tures  it." 

He  floundered  in  it.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

"In  no  time  you  might  get  sick  to  death  of  me." 

"Never!" 

The  denial  exploded  with  such  violence  that  the 
walls  fell.  Or  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  Cassy.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  room  had  become  a  tent  of 
fulgurant  colours.  They  were  blinding.  She  could 
not  look  at  them.  How  delicious  it  all  was,  though! 
In  spite  of  which,  she  sighed. 

"Well,  there  is  no  telling.  Some  day  I  may  go 
and  take  a  look  there." 

With  mounting  astonishment  he  repeated  it.  "Some 
day!  But,  if  you  ever  will,  why  not  now?" 

Her  eyes  then  were  on  him.     "To  find  out." 

"Find  out  what?" 

"How  you  felt  about  it." 
"But  how  could  you,  if  you  don't  care  for  me?" 


3H  THE   PALISER   CASE 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  you  told  me  so." 

Innocently,  with  an  air  of  wonder,  she  took  it  up. 
"Did  I?  I  don't  think  so.  I  am  sure  I  did  not.  I 
am  convinced  that  I  would  not  have  volunteered  it  and 
I  am  certain  you  did  not  ask." 

"I  asked  you  a  moment  ago." 

If  I  don't  make  it  stop,  she  thought,  it  will  jump 
out.  What  shall  I  do? 

"And  I  ask  you  again,"  he  gravely  continued. 

It  was  in  her  throat.  Try  as  she  might  she  could 
not  choke  it  back.  Out  it  came. 

"I  have  never  cared  for  any  one  else." 

Lennox  stared.  It  was  incredible.  Like  many  an 
other  it  was  incredible  to  him  that  he  should  have 
sought  afar  for  what  was  at  his  side. 

But  not  having  finished,  she  resumed.  "And  I  never 
shall." 

To  that  there  could  be  but  one  reply.  It  was  rough 
enough.  Cassy  did  not  mind,  but  she  freed  herself, 
undulantly,  as  a  woman  can. 

Unrebuffably  Lennox  renewed  it.  "Let's  be  mar 
ried  at  once." 

Cassy  smoothed  her  rumpled  hair.  "No."  The 
monosyllable  fell  like  a  stone. 

Lennox  kicked  it.     "In  God's  name,  why  not?" 

Cassy  turned  away.  It  was  the  hardest  of  all.  Be 
side  it,  what  was  the  gesture  of  the  day  before  ? 

"Because.     Just  because." 

"Because  why?" 

"Because  I  could  not  live  to  see  you  regret  it" 

"But  why  should  I?  I  never  shall."  His  hands 
on  her  shoulders,  violently  his  eyes  probed  her  own. 

She  thought  him  so  dear,  but  she  said :  "I  have  not 
cared  for  any  one  else.  You  have.  The  growth  of 


THE    PALISER    CASE  315 

love  is  slow.    You  cannot  love  me  now  as  I  love  you." 

He  wanted  to  shake  her  and  nearly  did.  "But 
when  you  find  I  do?" 

"Ah,  when  that  day  comes,  I  will." 

"And  meanwhile?" 

She  just  plucked  at  his  sleeve.  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  yielding.  It  was  yielding  as  water,  and 
yielding  still,  her  eyes  fell. 

"For  your  sake  only.     Later — if — if " 

Any  great  astonishment  is  dumb  and,  at  the  moment, 
a  whirlwind  tossed  his  thoughts.  In  the  swirling  gale 
were  sudden  pictures ;  the  girl's  fair  arms,  the  delight 
of  her  lips,  his  own  desire.  Tumultuously  they  passed. 
Before  him  flew  the  hazards  of  life,  of  death,  and, 
curling  there,  the  iniquity  of  leaving  her  afterward,  as 
leave  her  he  must,  alone  to  face  them.  The  counter 
blast  steadied  him.  Astonishment  may  be  dumb,  love 
is  clairvoyant. 

"For  your  own  sake,  no.  The  war  cannot  last  for 
ever  and  if  I  return,  then — then " 

Shortly,  among  the  Victorian  horrors  of  his  gloomy 
rooms,  she  came  to  see  him  off. 

Mrs.  Austen,  who  heard  of  everything,  heard  of 
that.  "I  always  knew  it!"  she  exclaimed.  The  dear 
woman  had  known  nothing  of  the  kind  and  her  per 
spicacity  amazed  her. 

But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Paliser  Case 
which  ended  before  it  began. 


ft  HI 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

L5AN     DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


31  Mar  o/  EC 

REC'D  LD 

AHK  i  0  1357 

LD  21-100m-6,'56 
(B9311slO)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


